The Mirai Trunks Complex
by Amaterasu Queen
Summary: Sometimes...love can go deeper than a son's bond with his mother. Sometimes, that obsession, that love, goes too far. B/V/MT
1. Hope

Author: Amaterasu  
  
AN: I sort of based this off the complex called, "The Oedipus Complex" where the son kills the dad to get with the mom. O.o;; Don't get so freaked out. It's pretty kinky if you think about it.  
  
I'm not holding myself back from writing this story. If I'm going to do lemons with certain characters, I'll do them. I'm not scared. ^_~ Be warned that these are the characters involved: Mirai Trunks/Bulma, Mirai Gohan/Mirai Bulma, Mirai Trunks/Vegeta, Bulma/Vegeta.  
  
Erm..I didn't really watch the Cell Games or rent the movie, "Trunks: The Mysterious Youth" or whatever it's called, but Gohan definitely has both of his arms back. o.o;; It's a nice replacement actually.   
  
WARNING: If incest, rape (both in future chapters), erm and anything else like that offends you then turn back. **This won't be a senseless incest fic** but a **struggle with jealousy, hope, hate,** and **romance at it's darkest. This is an R fanfic.**  
  
Setting in the beginning: Mirai Timeline. As it moves and you see Vegeta, you'll know you're out of the Mirai timeline, lol.  
  
  


  
  
  
The Mirai Trunks Complex  
  
Prologue: Hope  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It was over.  
  
  
He knew it.   
  
  
He should've accepted the fact that she would never be his no matter how hard he tried or how many times he tried to show her, or tell her. She wouldn't listen, or see...  
  
  
He looked down at his sword, ready to end it. To end the torture he went through, all the sacrifaces he made for his mother, all the things he did to make her smile for him ... were all in vain. The darkness of the lab made him think of all the times he had spent with his mother here. Not the way he wanted to spend it. Just doing calculations, working on new inventions, helping the people. No, he wanted to touch and feel her, in the ways he wasn't supposed to touch or feel her.   
  
  
No, he was her frickin' son. Kami played a joke on him and decided to make him her son.  
  
  
Maybe he could've gone on being her son and never holding her the way he wanted to but no; Kami was crueler.   
  
  
Trunks looked away, breathing heavily. He had beaten the androids with Gohan, watched as he almost died, yet right now, he wished that Gohan had died in the clutches of the android twins. Right now, _he_ could kill Gohan for what he did.  
  
  
It had started this morning. He clenched his fists and snarled, not realizing he was almost an exact duplicate of his dead father. His cheek twitched as he remembered.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Mom, I'm...home." He looked around the empty room where his mother had always greeted him after a hard day of training. He smiled and felt for her ki, finding it in the kitchen. He decided to sneak up on her and surprise her. It was one of the few ways he could find reasons to touch her. He blinked as he felt Gohan's ki in there as well. Now why would he be doing there...?  
  
  
As he walked silently to the kitchen, his heart pounded against his ribcage, he passed a picture framed on the wall. It was of his mother and him in front of the time machine he used only five weeks ago. His mother was smiling brightly, he was beside her, a hand slung over her shoulders in a hug. To anyone else, it was the hug/embrace that a mother and her son would share. It was all he could have.  
  
  
He paused, seeing something interesting. Gohan was in the background, arms folded, smiling. But as Trunks looked closer he saw it more as a plastic smile. Gohan's eyes were focused on Bulma, Trunks noted. However, he shrugged it off. No, Gohan wasn't like that. He would know if his dear friend was infatuated with his mother. And if he was, well, then it was his job to kill him, he thought darkly. And he would too.  
  
  
Turning away from the picture he resumed walking. As he opened the door, he stopped in his tracks. The smell of them was everywhere. It hit him as if a ki punch to the stomach. Their sex, it was all over the floor, the counters ... he shook with bare disbelief. No..  
  
  
He scowled and walked as silently as he could, keeping his ki low as he heard their moans in the next room.   
  
  
No.   
  
  
He felt Gohan and his mother's ki go up a little.   
  
**  
**_No.. _  
  
  
His mental scream wavered as he came closer to the locked door.  
  
  
No.  
  
  
She was screaming out her lover's name in the way that Trunks had always fantasized that she would say his.  
  
**  
NO!**  
  
  
He tore open the door, staring horrified at them. Gohan, his teacher, his mentor, his fucking friend was there with..his innocent mother. The one he loved. He watched for a second as Gohan grunted, his organ inside Bulma. Trunks watched as his mother tangled her hands into his spiky hair, kissing his cheeks, gasping out his name. She was supposed to say his name that way, Trunks narrowed his eyes into slits. "No.." He breathed out. She was reserved for him only! Not the one that didn't know her like he had! They seemed to hear him because tmmediately Gohan pulled away, straining for his pants, "Trunks-kun, I can explain! I was just-"  
  
  
"Fucking my mother's brains out, you bastard."  
  
  
His mother, naked as the day she was born, put a hand on her son's arm, trying to stop him. "Trunks, calm down! Gohan and I...well," The rest was lost as she revealed her body to him. She didn't notice the way that Trunks's gaze roved over her body or the fact that she was naked; she just wanted to stop him before he did anything drastic.  
  
  
Trunks's breath jammed in his throat. She was gorgeous. He felt himself hardening below and the temptation to touch her peach skin was almost uncontrolable out of his reach. Trunks could feel his breath heightening and he couldn't control it. Just to touch her.. just once.. as a lover, would be heaven to him.  
  
  
"..Trunks?" Bulma's hand shook him gently. He blinked.  
  
  
"Huh?"  
  
  
Gohan was glaring at him. He saw the way that Trunks looked at Bulma. And the sudden tightening in the boy's pants was a dead giveaway. Bulma remained oblivious. Or pretended to be. If it was the latter, then Gohan thought she was a great actress. Gohan sneered at the boy who ignored his presence (for now). What a freak, Gohan thought. Loving your mother in that way. He shuddered a little at the thought.  
  
  
"Trunks..." Bulma looked anxious, "while you were away... to help the other dimension with the androids, Gohan and I.." she trailed off. Trunks looked numb.  
  
  
"..You what..?" he asked, fearing the answer that he knew she would say.  
  
  
"Explored our relationship."  
  
  
"What relationship??" Trunks threw up his arms up, enjoying through his rage how Bulma's hand slipped off his arm so easily and softly. How it glided against his bare skin. He sent a sneer to match the one that Gohan was giving him. "I mean, what's so great about _him_?" Jealousy took over.  
  
  
"Trunks!" Bulma looked mad. "Apologize!"   
  
  
"No. Want to know why? He's a pussy for stealing what's mine." He hadn't realized the words that had come. Bulma widened her eyes as Gohan stood in front of her, straightening himself to try and intimidate the shorter boy.  
  
It didn't work.  
  
Trunks snarled quietly, stepping up accepting the unspoken challenge. Bulma shook her head. "No! Gohan, Trunks, don't fight." He stepped back, breathing in deeply, glaring into Gohan's black eyes. The little boy back in the other dimension was so innocent. This one, Trunks thought disgusted, was nothing but a slut.  
  
  
His hand came to the sword on the hilt of his hip. He had almost forgotten it was there. Maybe if he was quick enough ... he could cut Gohan in little pieces like sushi.  
  
  
Gohan's gaze caught Trunks's hand and shook his head. "You're too slow, kid." He gave a smirk. "That won't work."  
  
  
Trunks twitched with anger as Bulma shook her head and silently sobbed. He took a deep breath and asked, "How did this all...happen..?"  
  
  
Bulma opened her mouth to explain even though tears ran down her cheeks. Trunks hated himself for making her upset, but he needed to know. Gohan put his hand on her lips and she looked up gratefully. Trunks breathed harder as he restrained his rage.  
  
  
"While you were gone.. I was still recovering from the Android fight." Trunks gave an agitated nod.  
  
  
"Yeah, this I know. It's how you two got together that leaves me in the dust."  
  
  
"I'm getting to that." Gohan growled. The younger boy rolled his eyes and watched his mother carefully. She clung to Gohan, he noticed with displeasure. Close. _Too_ close.  
  
  
"As I healed, Bulma-" he ignored Trunks's growl, "helped me. I have a new arm, as you can see."   
  
  
For one, it pissed Trunks off to high Heaven at the way Gohan said his mother's name. The way it rolled off the man's lips as if it were chocolate melting or some delicacy. It was how Trunks was supposed to say it. Him! Not Gohan! For two, the hard-on he had was starting to burn as he suppressed all thoughts of Bulma out of his head. He couldn't afford to zone out. Not now.  
  
  
"And as she and I were isolated in here for so long ... we grew to know each other more.." he laced his fingers with Bulma's, "intimately."  
  
  
"Intimately?" Trunks repeated, his voice was hollow. He realized that there was a chance they may actually love each other. He saw his mother smile at Gohan and knew from the look in her eyes that she cared deeply for this man. Not love but deep caring. Trunks looked at Gohan's eyes and saw as the man looked down at Bulma love was there.  
  
  
No... This wasn't supposed to happen. He stepped back. Bulma and Gohan snapped out of their trance. She looked startled. "Trunks? Are you-" The words stayed on her lips as she saw her son run away from her. Gohan looked somewhat pleased yet frustrated. "Let him be."  
  
  
Bulma stepped forward after him but was held back by Gohan's arms. "TRUNKS!"  
  
  
  
As Trunks ran away, he heard his name being screamed. But he didn't turn back. He couldn't face the world now. Or even life.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
So here he was, ready to take his life. Trunks touched his sword. It glittered, showing its compassion when no one else would. If only she had accepted him sooner. Heh, maybe she knew and didn't want to hurt him. Trunks closed his eyes against the tears. No.   
  
  
He could've lived without being her lover. Just to dream about her and be close to her was enough. But now that Gohan, once his trusted friend and teacher, had chosen to poison his mother and taint her with his seed, Trunks couldn't bare to hear them at night. Going faster against each other, moaning each other's name, feeling one another so close and-  
  
  
He snapped his head down and looked away.  
  
  
He'd rather die than to hear that. To know that she wasn't his anymore. He had always thought of her as his, something he could protect and look after, even desire secretly (ignoring the fact that it was forbidden). Now she was Gohan's. And why?  
  
  
Trunks slammed his fist into the wall next to him. Because he fuckin' was gone for five weeks and that's how long it took to form a 'relationship.'  
  
  
He let out a bitter laugh. Kami really had it out for him. First he was her son, knowing he couldn't have her but now he was forced to know that his best friend was her lover. He threw his head back and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.  
  
  
"Well, if I did know I would've stayed in the other dimension!" He laughed more but then he stopped. He looked down at his sword, it's silver reflection making him think. He looked at the small capsule case on the desk.  
  
  
He came here whenever he became upset. When he first stumbled unto the little part of Capsule Corp, he was seven, confused at why the androids were attacking and why his mother was trying to fight them. No, back then he knew what she was doing. Trying help the people. Even then he was jealous that she loved Chikyuu-sei almost as much as him.  
  
  
It was a cool room, one that was near her lab, somewhere he could think. The old chair he sat in was one his mother used so her scent was always with him. He came here when he first had..the dreams. They were confusing to him at first. The dreams that would show him his mother naked as he had always seen her (yet never really cared to notice that) and.. he started to get the desire. The desire to touch her skin, just to feel it.   
  
  
He didn't dare tell his mother. Or even Gohan. As they trained together and became comrades, he spoke not a word of these dreams. Somehow, he knew that Gohan would look at him in a different light if he knew. If anyone knew. And he'd be alone, without her, without her always.  
  
  
Trunks studied the case. He walked, dragging his sword behind him. He popped it open and stared.  
  
  
Then a smile came on his face. Of course! Why didn't he think of it before? His smile turned into a smirk. Yes, yes! He pocketed the capsule and looked around the room, searching. "Paper, pen... Where is the Kami damned paper and pen?!"  
  
  
He bent down and looked through the stacked papers on the desk. It was all a mess that his mother had left behind. Half-finished projects, scribbled blueprints that didn't make any sense. Things his deceased grandfather worked on yet never finished. Then he grasped a pen and randomly grabbed a printout sheet. He turned it on the back and wrote in his scribbly handwriting:  
_  
  
Dear Mother,  
  
I couldn't help but hate him. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill myself. But I found an answer. I'm taking Hope with me.  
  
Love always,  
  
Trunks  
  
p.s.  
Don't try to stop me._  
  
  
  
He licked his lips as he ran out of his place. And his life. If he couldn't have her here, he would have her elsewhere.   
  
  
And he knew how.  
  
  
His laugh echoed as through the night and the sky wept.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
TBC..  
  
  
Next chapter: He actually gets to the other dimension and creates major havoc. Sort of sad about what happens.  
  
  
  



	2. Rival Arrival

  
  
Chapter Two: Rival Arrival  


  
  
  
  
  
  
Bulma snapped her eyes open as she sat up. She breathed heavily, looking at her alarm clock. She groaned. Only 4:57 AM. "Trunks, you're going to be the death of me," she muttered under her breath as she got up and shoved her feet into slippers, draping herself in a warm robe.  
  
  
Her son's cries echoed throughout the hall as she stepped out. Opening the door to his nursery, she smiled sleepily to the fresh baby powder scent that welcomed her. She walked to the white crib and smiled at her one-year old baby boy. He gurgled and held out his hand, the tears standing still in his eyes.  
  
  
"Did Trunksie have a bad dream?" She stroked the small baby's curl of hair. He gurgled more, wrapping his tiny hands around her wrists, holding on. Bulma's eyes warmed and she held her son in her arms.   
  
  
She went to the rocker chair in the corner, by the windows, and sat there. She rocked back and forth, smiling down at her son. Bulma cooed at him, "Why can't you let mommy sleep?"  
  
  
He giggled and wagged his fists around in the air. Bulma sighed. "Unresponsive like your father."  
  
  
Her baby looked up curiously, sucking on his mother's thumb. "Hungry?" Bulma asked. Trunks looked at her and shined a toothless grin, wagging his hand at her. "I'll take that as a yes, then." She opened her robe and set a breast into his mouth. He ate his meal greedily, pawing as he sucked. She sighed, patting his back in soothing motions as she rocked. "The doctors recommend that I should stop breastfeeding you, but-" she closed her eyes, "I'm not sure what to believe. I wish Vegeta would just-"  
  
  
She was interrupted by the loud slamming of a door. She looked through the window, seeing a stormy figure march from the gravity room she built for Vegeta. It is Vegeta, Bulma thought, stroking her son's head absently. Her eyes remained on her...  
  
  
Her what? They weren't anything. It was just an accident. Just an accident, he had said to her before he left to train into space. Just an accident.  
  
  
Just an accident. Bulma narrowed her eyes, the wonderful light blue becoming a darker, much more dangerous shade of blue. Trunks was just an accident to him. Her grip on her baby became tighter and he wailed into her breast at the sudden pressure. Startled, she relaxed her grip, looking down at her son. "I thought Saiya-jins could go through anything without feeling pain." He looked up with wide, innocent eyes.  
  
  
"Heh." She smiled. "I knew you guys were pretending when you said you couldn't feel pain." Or at least Vegeta was. She scowled and looked down at her son. He stopped feeding strangely. "Something wrong?" She asked. There was no answer. Not that she had expected one.   
  
  
"Maybe you shouldn't talk to little brats, Woman." A rusty laugh. Bulma winced and didn't look at the doorway to confirm that it was Vegeta there. He probably was leaning against the doorway, smirking at her.  
  
  
"Vegeta..." The squeak of the rocking chair ceased then after a moment's silence, resumed. "Shouldn't you be training?" The tone was warm; the question was cold.  
  
  
"I did."  
  
  
"Are you happy with the results?"   
  
  
"No." This was a regular answer whenever she asked that. It had been this way for three months after the Cell Games. Bulma didn't have to look up to see his scowl of determination. Determination to kill a man who's already dead, she thought. A dead man that's more important than this family.  
  
  
Is it even a family? She asked herself. She looked down at Trunks, not sucking on her teat anymore but just staring at her skin. She stroked his hair and he whined, wailing gently. This was a surprise to her and she immediately tried to soothe him. Of course, Vegeta chose this time to argue with her over meaningless things.  
  
  
"I expect the Gravity Room to be updated to another 200 by this afternoon."  
  
  
"What?" Bulma looked up, seeing him clearly. This time the shadows and moonlight didn't cover his features. He looked dirty, drenched in sweat. His stench reached her nose and she scrunched it. Her eyes watered at both the stress being put on her by Vegeta's constant demands and the wailing Trunks. It was giving her a headache and she struggled to keep it under control.  
  
  
"200. By this afternoon." He repeated, folding his arms across his chest. He was shirtless, allowing her to see all the scars he attained over the years he served under Frieza.   
  
  
"Not now, Vegeta. I'm too-"  
  
  
"Lazy." He finished for her. He glared. "The child shouldn't be coddled like that. He has warrior blood in him."  
  
  
"I thought he was just a mistake." She mocked the words he said to her before when she was six months pregnant.  
  
  
"He is." Came the cold tone. "But mistake or no mistake, he is part of my blood ... Will he fucking shut up?" He snarled as he glared at the child near Bulma's bosom. Bulma protectively tightened her arms around him.  
  
  
"Don't say that!" She hissed then started to croon at her small, crying child. Vegeta rolled his eyes, looking annoyed.  
  
  
"Sssh. Baby, shh, it's okay." She rocked the child, confused at his sudden crying. Why was he acting like this? As she bounced him in her arms, singing a lullaby (trying to calm him down), a crash was heard.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Vegeta scowled at the machine. He was back. The older brat was back. Great, he thought to himself, another mouth to feed. But the thought of having a near equal to train with immediately left him good spirits. Or as close to good spirits as he could get.  
  
  
Bulma jiggled Trunks, trying to soothe his crying still. Finally she passed him over to his startled grandmother, having just came down from the stairs. "Bulma, are you all right?" Her mother asked as she did the same thing Bulma did to try and calm down Trunks. The baby boy nearly screamed. Bulma winced and looked out.   
  
  
The time machine.  
  
  
The boy from the future.  
  
  
Her son.  
  
  
Bulma's eyes were wide. Mirai Trunks. In the background she faintly heard her baby's cries but all she could focus her eyes on was her son from the future. Or is it an alternate dimension? she asked herself.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The air was warm from the aftermath of the crash, he noted as he searched the ground. He saw the familiar buildings, only they were newer, more freshly painted. He looked to the ground and saw his father staring up at him. Mirai Trunks tensed and kept his lips from twitching into a scowl.  
  
  
"Brat." Vegeta greeted. Or in his form of greeting.  
  
  
"Hn." Mirai said back. He looked around, searching for the blue hair. Vegeta looked at the boy more closely. He had grown. Not in height of features but ... something was different about him. Something he couldn't see. That's what bothered Vegeta the most. It made him feel as if he were in his encounter with Kakarott on Namek, watching as he turned Super Saiya-jin without knowing that he could. But even then he sensed something different in Kakarott's air, the way he reflected his ki, his aura. Now his 'future' version of his son was giving off something similar to what he felt from Kakarott.  
  
  
And he didn't like it. The smell was too wrong.  
  
  
Finally the flash of blue graced his vision. He sighed when he saw her, eyes roaming over her body. Mirai Trunks flew from the time machine and set gently on the ground. He brushed past his 'father,' not really caring if he offended him or not. He saw the younger him crying on his grandmother's shoulder. Bulma was beside her, staring at him. His eyes caught hers and after a minute of staring, she looked away.   
  
  
He smirked. "Hey." He felt his father's presence behind him but didn't turn around. His attention was on his mother.  
  
  
"Why are you here?" she asked. Mrs. Briefs stayed quiet as she watched the exchange. Something was wrong in the air. When she saw the young man, she knew who he was. The future version of Trunks. Mrs. Briefs may have been ditzy but even she felt the wrongness that this boy brought. Baby Trunks felt it too. He had quieted down, sobbing quietly into his grandmother's shoulder. That was another thing that puzzled the old woman. Babies, even one year olds as developed as Trunks, didn't sob.  
  
  
"My mother ... she ......" Mirai Trunks trailed off, looking to the ground. He was observing her light pink slippers. Her feet were so small, he marveled. How she could be so fast on those little feet of hers was a wonder to him as a child.  
  
  
A hand was on his shoulder. His mother's. She looked sad and sympathetic when he looked into her eyes again. "I'm sorry." He tried his best to look heartbroken and mournful.  
  
  
"You'll always have a place in the family here." She hugged him, wrapping her small arms around his form. He hid his smile in her hair and hugged her back close to him. 'I know.' He thought to himself, 'Because you'll be mine.'  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Oh you poor dear." Mrs. Briefs squealed over Mirai Trunks. He held a smile and let her fawn and pat him on his head, as if he were a poor dear. Bulma was rolling her eyes, handling baby Trunks gently in her arms. He was silent, head resting against his mother's breast, staring at Mirai Trunks. The older man waved a small hello and smiled secretly. The baby stared at him as he nuzzled his head into his mother's comfort, wailing a bit.   
  
  
"Mom, leave him alone." Bulma said, trying to shush Trunks. Her gaze caught Mirai's. "I swear he's been like this all morning. I'm not sure what's wrong with him," she started to coo at her baby, "Trunksie just likes to torture mommy and make sure she doesn't get sleep."  
  
  
Mirai Trunks frowned and looked down at the wailing child. "Maybe he just wants attention," he murmured to himself.  
  
  
"Huh?" Bulma looked up. "What did you say?"  
  
  
"Nothing, nothing." He looked around. They were in the kitchen; a big place to enjoy eating, parallel to the one where he spent time with his mother. The thought of his mother caused both pain and pleasure. He pushed it away, looking over his shoulder to the dead-tired Bulma. I shouldn't think of her when I have a prize for the picking, he thought to himself.  
  
  
The first light of dawn came through the window, shadowing everything it touched to a golden and rosy hue. He sat down, looking around. Bulma stared at him, trying to figure out how it must be like to lose one's mother. She looked at her own mother, staring also at Mirai Trunks. Silently she tapped her on the shoulder and handed the crying baby to Mrs. Briefs.   
  
  
"I need to talk to him."  
  
  
Mrs. Briefs hesitated then nodded, walking away. Bulma watched as Trunks tried to reach for her over his grandmother's shoulder, trying to stay with her. She shook off a shudder from the haunted look in the babe's eyes. Honestly, she needed some sleep. She was beginning to see things.  
  
Mirai Trunks put his head in his palm as he thought. Now that he was here, he had to see the depth of the relationship between his father and mother. His mind went to his father. He felt his ki, still outside...but why? He sighed then felt a hand on his. Mirai Trunks looked immediately at his hand, which laid limply on the table. Smooth and marble-like fingers enclosed it and he traveled the arm up, up, up...to meet the smiling face of Bulma.  
  
  
Her eyes were worried, he noticed. "Yeah?"  
  
  
"I just wanted to make sure ... you-you would be okay." She rubbed her thumb against his palm, meaning it to be a mothering gesture.  
  
He stole a look at her hand then went to her face. He smiled. "Now I am." He squeezed her hand. Bulma let her worry ease into a smile as well.  
  
  
"Want to talk about...?" She trailed off, looking at him. He sighed and felt the pain of the memories stab through his soul. Each one was more agonizing then the next. The smells ... the smiles they gave each other ... they didn't care about him. She didn't want him. But he didn't know he was crying or that Bulma's arms were around him a second time.  
  
  
"Ssh," she whispered as if he were her baby. Mirai Trunks inhaled a shaky breath, taking in her scent. This was what he needed. This was what he wanted. Through his blurred vision, he embraced her back, feeling the need to seek comfort from his mother. Not really his mother, but ... just a different version of her, he rationalized. It must be a little better if she's different. Afterall, it wasn't really incest. Not really.  
  
So he nuzzled his nose into her neck, noting how she froze. He rested his chin on the juncture where her neck and shoulder met. "Thank you ... Bulma."  
  
Bulma looked ahead of her, the refrigerator in the line of her vision. What had just happened? She felt Mirai Trunks's arms tighten around her and he whispered softly into her ear again, "Thank you, so..much." Before she could blink, he let go and was out the door.   
  
How did he move so fast?  
  
She sat in the chair, numb. It couldn't have happened...could it? She touched the place that tingled and shivered. No, it was lack of sleep. Yes, that's what it was. She nodded, feeling stupid at the first thought of Mirai-   
  
But he didn't. She forced a smile and looked at the stove. Then at the stairs. The answer was of course obvious. She was tired and needed sleep. Important sleep, she said to herself, smiling.   
  
  
Bulma could still hear her child crying as she dragged herself up the stairs. "No..." She moaned to herself as she directed herself in the direction of her room which was conveniently across the hall. She paused, looking in, expecting to see her blond-curled mother trying to calm down the little boy and instead saw Mirai Trunks taking care of him instead.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The small tinkling of bells and the mobile was in the background as Mirai Trunks was hunched over the crib. The sniffling little him was looking up, blue eyes awide with wonder.   
  
  
"You're so small. And lucky to have such a good mommy." Mirai chuckled, fingering the baby's dimpled cheek. He gave off a low whine. Mirai smiled more and leaned in so far that his face was five inches away from the squealing babe's, "but we'll both take care of her, won't we?" Baby Trunks didn't do anything but start to wail again.  
  
  
Mirai smiled and looked out the window. Hmm. He narrowed his blue eyes and scowled. Vegeta was investigating his time machine. But why? His hand went down to the place where his sword was kept and he noticed for the first time that it was gone. "Shit." He muttered, looking through the curtains at Vegeta.   
  
  
He was going through all of his ... but why? Why. Mirai scowled. That was the question. Maybe I should go down there and...talk.. with my dad, Mirai grinned to himself and turned around to be met with blue eyes and a frown.  
  
  
"Mirai...are you okay?" Bulma crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him suspiciously. Mirai Trunks smiled. His mother in the other timeline was always sharp. This one is too, he noted, saving that for later speculation. Now to get out of this pickle.  
  
  
"No, not really." he answered. "Why do you ask?" He grinned down at her. She seemed unsure suddenly and took a step back. Somehow it looked as if she weren't expecting that.   
  
  
"I was just-" she didn't bother to finish her thought when her attention went to Trunks. She looked so hopeless and lost, Mirai thought. I can find her.   
  
  
Bulma held her little baby's hand. "I wish he would stop crying." Her voice broke and she looked like she was going to cry. "I don't even know why he's crying!" She felt Mirai's hands around her shoulders.  
  
  
"He's probably just upset for no reason," he murmured into her ear. "He'll get over it soon."  
  
  
Bulma looked down at baby Trunks. "No." she finally answered. "No, I don't think he will." She picked him up and laid his head on her shoulder, making Mirai draw one of his hands back. "Sssh. Trunks, please be quiet." Her voice broke a little again as she held back tears, "please stop."   
  
  
Mirai let his hand slide of her shoulder, eyes on her neck. It was sweet temptation to touch her skin again but ... he had other matters to deal with, he remembered his father. Instead, his hand traveled down to her lower back then to her waist, where it stayed for a second. "I'm sure he'll stop when he has to." Bulma was stiff as he whispered the words and rubbed her sides with his hand.   
  
  
He smiled and turned away, walking quietly out the door. Bulma was left behind with her crying child and a confused mind.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
For one thing, Vegeta didn't know why the brat was here in the first place. So what if the Woman died? But as he thought that, something in him faltered. Something near the left of his chest, where his heart beat.  
  
  
The Time Machine was a bit black from the impact it got from going into the ground. It was still giving off heat and Vegeta could feel its wavy sheens through the training clothes he wore. He scrunched his nose at the smell of the exhaust fumes raising from it and looked at the house where 'his' son was. Why was the brat even here?   
  
  
He turned the thought over in his mind. There was a purpose, he supposed. This was the only other home the boy knew besides his own.   
  
  
But doesn't he have a mate? Vegeta scowled, Some other people he can bother than us? From the looks of the boy, Vegeta wouldn't be surprised if he was still chaste. He nearly shuddered at the irony. He, was unwillingly practicing abstinence (from the lesson that women on this planet get pregnant easily) and his offspring would probably faint if he saw a woman naked.  
  
  
"Feh, as if he would please a woman." He started to laugh at the thought.  
  
  
"Who couldn't please a woman?" A cool voice came from behind him. Vegeta paused, wondering how he couldn't feel the boy's ki. And how he was so fast to sneak up from behind him.  
  
  
He turned his head over his shoulder and smirked. "I think you know who."  
  
  
Mirai smirked. "Ow. That wounded me, Daddy," he said in mock-hurt fashion. Vegeta scowled and rolled his eyes. Mirai kept his eyes on his father's back then averted his eyes to the Time Machine. "So," he started, "how have things been doing since I've been gone?"  
  
  
"Just fine." Vegeta grunted.  
  
  
"Really? What about Bulma?" Vegeta tensed at her name being used. Two things ran through his mind. One, why was the boy calling his mother by her name, two, why was he getting the feeling that something was out of place?  
  
  
"She's..fine, too."  
  
  
"Oh. So...nothing's wrong then? Nothing at all?"  
  
  
"Yes!" Vegeta snapped. "Fuckin' Kami, why do you care?" Mirai's face went stoic.  
  
  
"I do care. A lot for Bulma and little Trunks." Vegeta noticed how his name was left out.  
  
  
Mirai left Vegeta's side and flew up to the top of the Time Machine. He carefully brought out the sword. Dawn appeared now. The sky was an careful orange, mild and peachy-looking. The North Star twinkled in the sky, somewhere near where the Sun was dawning. He brandished his sword, making the light reflect into Vegeta's eyes. Vegeta held a gloved hand to his eyes and scowled.  
  
  
"What the-"   
  
  
"I left it in there." Mirai explained, jumping down into the ground. He dusted his jeans off, not looking bothered by Vegeta's stare. There was a silence as Mirai tied the sword's hilt to his belt. He brought his face up and caught Vegeta's gaze and held it.  
  
  
"Breakfast!" Neither Vegeta or Mirai flinched or diverted their stare-down at the chirpy yell. Mrs. Briefs waved her hand eccentrically. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the air. Mirai gave a short smile at Vegeta before turning.  
  
  
"Coming, Grandma!" Vegeta scowled as the young man brushed past him as if he were nothing but a mere inconvenience. He stared after the man through narrowed slits.  
  
  
There was something in the essence of the boy that bothered him. Something that threatened Vegeta. But what? Everyone had the impression he was harmless (except with an enemy) and would never hurt a fly.  
  
  
But there was that feeling that somehow Vegeta and everyone that got in Mirai's way would get hurt. No matter what. No matter who.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
TBC..  
  
AN : Wow! ^.^ Since no one really left their emails with those GREAT reviews (no sarcasm, trust me, I'm just enthusiastic I actually got some! :) ) I'll say their names and embarass them in this author's note..ahem...LyraZchan, Emily, sailormercury (emailed ya! ^.^) and Blu Glowstick (/wink wink\ liked the story so far. Keep up the good work), and last but certainly not least: Speedy.  
  
Damn college. University of San Francisco is BURNING my buns. /groan\ and I think they're trying to whip me into doing MORE work. Gah, stupid college professors /blows raspberry at them\ That'll teach 'em. Anyways, want a sneak preview of my life? As I wrote this chapter, Jack (the PIG!..no, not really, just human-wise), my roomie, came in with his new boyfriend and made out with him on OUR couch. Normally I wouldn't mind this but this type of making out involved er.. taking off your pants and spankin the bad boy downstairs. You can see how I ended the chapter so soon. I was busy cussin Jack out for bringin his little boyfriend (piercings on BOTH nipples, guys..gold too) in and giving eachother blow jobs on the couch while I was writing BOTH this chapter AND a due-tomorrow-essay..gah.. /grossed out\ If only this dude weren't so rancid, I wouldn't mind it. Ah well. hope you enjoyed the chapter, guys. /sigh\ Ya gotta love San Francisco.  
  
  
Next chapter: Suspcion and fantasies. And the source of the problem is Mirai Trunks. ^.^ Like San Francisco, ya gotta love 'im.  
  



	3. Passion

  
  
  
Chapter Two: Passion  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The breakfast set before him was delicious. As much as he loved his mother, she was no great cook. Mirai smiled through mouthfuls at the thought. Vegeta was seated to the far left of him and Mrs. Briefs was humming as she prepared more food at the stove. But Bulma wasn't down yet.  
  
  
He gazed up at the stairs as he forked some eggs. He wondered if she was all right. The wailing of baby Trunks had stopped some time ago, Mirai noticed. Was she that tired not to come down and eat? Maybe I should bring up some food to her, he thought concerned.  
  
  
Vegeta watched as his son stared at the stairs. What the fuck was with this boy? It was as if he were obsessed. Inwardly he shuddered at the thought. Had the boy been with his mother that long not to have any other interests? He scowled and went back to eating, keeping his stare on the stairs as well. Why wasn't she coming down?  
  
  
"So, Trunks," Mrs. Briefs started. Mirai turned his attention to her, watching the staircase through the corner of his eye. He shoveled more eggs into his mouth. Mrs. Briefs flipped a pancake high into the air while beating more eggs into another bowl.  
  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
  
"Will you be staying here?" Vegeta nearly choked on his food. Mirai smirked and laid back in his chair, finding Vegeta's reaction to the question incredibly funny. Though, he actually wanted the Saiya-jin Prince to choke on the eggs and die.  
  
  
"Yeah, I will."  
  
  
"Want me to show you your room?" Then Mrs. Briefs tittered. "Oh silly me, I forgot!" She put a hand over her mouth as she flipped pancakes with the other. Mirai arched his eyebrow. Yeah, this most definitely was his grandmother. Vegeta still was breathing hard from nearly choking.  
  
  
"Forgot what?"  
  
  
"Papa and me wanted to take a nice walk this morning around the house." She gave a sigh. "Our anniversary is coming up, didya know?"  
  
  
Mirai smiled politely. "No." Then a shine came into his eyes. "Who will show me to my room then?"  
  
  
"Vegeta could do-"  
  
  
"No." Came the growl from the prince. Mrs. Briefs didn't look deterred.  
  
  
"But Bulma's so tired from-"  
  
  
"No." Mirai knitted his eyebrows together at Vegeta's selfishness. "I'm going to train. Tell the old man to fix-" He stopped himself, "Oh that's right, you're doing that sentimental thing with him. Tell the Woman to come then."   
  
  
He got up and strolled out the door. Mrs. Briefs sighed and Mirai frowned. "It's okay." He told his grandma. "I think I can find my own room."  
  
  
Mrs. Briefs smiled brightly. She hugged him, "Such a sweet boy," and giggled, going back to the counter and held a plate of food in front of her to Mirai. "Bring this up to her, will you?"  
  
  
He nodded and took it. He eyed the rooms upstairs as he walked to the steps. The material beneath him, creaked under his heavy weight. He stepped through the hall, watching the Nursery door predatorily.  
  
  
He opened it, just to see through a wide crack and inhaled sharply.   
  
  
She was asleep in the rocking chair with baby Trunks on her breast. So that's how she got him to be quiet, he smirked. I agree with her methods. He eyed her other exposed breast and slipped in, closing the door behind him.  
  
  
Bulma was nodding, still rocking in the chair slowly. Her breaths came out even, calm. Mirai looked at the baby, suckling softly on his mother's breast. He was half-asleep, Mirai noted with growing pleasure as he put the plate of food silently on the dresser then walked slowly towards the sleeping beauty.  
  
  
He kneeled down, putting his hand on her knee. He looked at her face, smiling at her small breaths. He bent forward and kissed the top of her breast, watching Baby Trunks through the corner of his eye. The baby was almost asleep, not hearing his presence... yet.  
  
  
He made his way, enjoying her skin in his mouth. So sweet, he thought to himself as he captured her nipple, rolling his tongue under it. Her milk came into his mouth and he drank it. His hands were no longer on her knees but to her sides, massaging it, wanting to make her loved. To feel loved. Something she no doubt hadn't felt from Vegeta.  
  
  
Bulma's breaths became shorter, more heightened as he moved in more eagerly. His hand began to travel downwards. As his hand moved past her robe, her skin became more flushed as his hand ventured - he froze as he felt a ki come up to the room. His mouth seperated from her skin and just as the door opened, he was at the other side of the room, sitting on a small stool. Mrs. Briefs looked in and smiled at Mirai.   
  
  
"How is she? Did she like the breakfast?" Her eyes settled on the sleeping woman then they skirted over to the cold plate of bacon, toast, and pancakes. Her smile fell a couple of notches. Mirai noticed and gave an explanation.  
  
  
"She was sleeping already when I came up. I-I didn't want to wake her up."  
  
  
"You're too sweet to be real!" she giggled and sighed. "Well, I'm off to go on that walk with Papa. Make sure she eats." Her face turned unnaturally stern. "With that little boy's appetite, she needs all the food she can get!" Mirai nodded.   
  
  
There was a small silence. Mirai fidgetted, licking his lips, the remanents of milk on his lip and under his nose. Mrs. Briefs continued to smile and then frowned. "Dear, you have some milk on your cheek." He froze for the second time that hour and put a hand to his cheek.  
  
  
Mrs. Briefs smiled and moved toward him with a hankerchief. He stiffened and looked away as she cleaned up his cheek. "That's okay, Grandma, I think I can-"  
  
  
"Nonsense, Trunksie!" she giggled and rubbed his cheek clean. Mirai hoped she didn't notice that there wasn't even a glass of milk in this room, let alone suspect that he used his mother to get the satisfaction he needed. Well, he mentally looked down at his tightened crotch, almost all the satisfaction.  
  
  
"There," she looked at the clean and dry cheek. She patted it. "All better." Mirai nodded, looking down at his boots. He stole a look at her.   
  
  
"Shouldn't you be..you know..on that walk with Grandpa..?"  
  
  
She paused and looked up. "Hmm, oh yeah!" she giggled again. Mirai weakly laughed with her. "I completely forgot! I hope I'm not too late." The woman barely got the words out of her mouth before Mirai pushed her out of the door of the Nursery. He smiled and waved bye.  
  
  
"I'm just gonna wait out in here for Bulma to wake up. I need to ... talk ... to her."  
  
  
"Okay, dear, just be sure to-" The door was slammed before she completed her sentence. Mrs. Briefs shrugged and danced down the halls, giggling. Today was her anniversary!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Vegeta kicked his opponent, sending the robot into the wall. The small machine beeped as it slid down into shambles. He gave a smirk then looked out the window. He frowned.   
  
The boy should've been here at least an hour ago, he mused. Then he laughed. Well, that is if he were really a warrior.  
  
He gave a kick into the air, then another. Then another. Another. After training alone for five more minutes, he soon got bored. The Boy's ki was up there... with the Woman's. Hn. Vegeta stared out the window at Capsule Corp's main building.   
  
Maybe he ought to pay both a visit. Just to see how they were doing. Heh, he chuckled to himself. And to remind them both that they shouldn't make me wait.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
His hand traveled across the higher part of her leg and went to rest back on her knee. "I don't know why he doesn't appreciate you." She gave a moan as an answer as she fidgetted in her sleep. The baby seemed to be too deep in sleep to be awakened. "If I were him, " he paused to kiss her hand that rested in his, "I wouldn't let you go like he did so many times. So many _foolish_ times."  
  
  
His hand wandered upwards again. "Bulma, I wish you knew how much I'd do for you." The sleeping woman sighed and whispered a name against the cushions. Mirai paused again and let his hand travel up more.  
  
  
Her sleeping face reminded him of books he once read. Books filled with pictures of angels and angels, looking holy, looking innocent.. yet so heavenly seductive. His hand rested near her mons. "I can be better than Vegeta..." he said softly. "I know I can."  
  
  
"Mmm," Mirai smiled at Bulma's moan. "That feels nice." His thumb slipped down, brushing past the curls.  
  
  
"I know." He leaned in to kiss her exposed breasts and as he traveled downwards, he opened more robe. Mirai noticed her breath heighten as his thumb rubbed against her clit. He lowered his eyelids and breathed in her scent of arousal. This had to be a dream. He opened his eyes and saw that both were still asleep. No ... it was a fantasy come to life, he decided as he rubbed her clit more. Her back arched as the tension built in her.  
  
  
A dream would be her wanting him. Would have her give herself to him. He wouldn't be stooping so low as to touch her as she slept.  
  
  
Mirai paused in mid-rub. Should he even be doing this? This seemed so ... unfair. Unfair to the woman he loved. Her moans were louder as she pressed her weight against his thumb, starting to rub against it. "Vegeta.." He froze. No. "Please.." No! His eyes held a wild look as he fly away from her. He stared at her flushed skin, her heavy breathing... everything he wanted to be near.. but it was stolen away with her whisper. Her whisper of the one that didn't deserve. That never deserved her.  
  
  
He sat on the other side of the room then stood up and walked out of the door. His eyes were narrowed as he strolled down the hall. He had plans to make her his.  
  
  
And Vegeta was an obstruction.   
  
  
First Gohan, now Vegeta. He gave a bitter laugh. No matter what, she was never going to be available. Then he stopped walking, tapping the rail thoughtfully. But who said she wasn't available..? so far, he didn't see any advances from Vegeta to Bulma. It was probably just Bulma who loved him. He smiled chillingly. If anyone were to pass by and see his cold smile, the person would feel as if they'd been dunked under a waterfall of ice.  
  
  
Yes. One-sided love. Mirai nodded with sympathy. He knew the feeling. Maybe he would make her feel comforted by a shoulder to lean on.  
  
  
He resumed his walk downwards, no longer angry or frustrated, but calm. His mind buzzing full of plans. On his way down, he brushed purposely against the sweating Vegeta. He had a secretive smile as he passed the Saiya-jin. He didn't bother to greet him.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Vegeta grunted at the ingrateful youth. Kids today. He shook his head and walked up the stairs. Ungrateful little brats.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Bulma stirred awake and immediately looked down at her baby. Trunks was still asleep. She yawned and blinked. Then looked down at her robe, at the curly lavender mons. She sniffed and squeezed her thighs together. Must've had another wet dream about Vegeta, she blushed.  
  
  
As she got up, she wavered on her legs and shook her head. Bulma forced her legs to walk over to the crib where she set down Trunks down. As she did she saw milkstains all over her robe. At first she didn't react... but then she saw that the milkstains were on the other side of her chest.  
  
  
The side that Trunks didn't drink from.  
  
  
She widened her eyes and looked down at the small babe. It wasn't as if Trunks had just woken up, decided he wanted a drink from a fresher pump, moved there, then moved back to avoid any suspicion. She arched her eyebrow at that theory. It was ridiculous! Ha, as if Trunks would do that! ... Then again ... knowing his father ...  
  
  
Of course! His father! She smirked and folded her arms across her chest, looking strangely like the male of her thoughts. "That sly dog!" she giggled to herself. He probably came in and decided to have a drink as well! "I knew he would come around sooner or later." She spotted the plate of food on the dresser.  
  
  
Heh, somethin's up. I don't care if Vegeta has come around, she thought. Never in a million years would he bring up food to me. As she thought this, the door knob turned and opened to reveal Vegeta.  
  
  
Bulma blinked, obviously unnerved at how he appeared just when she thought of him. "Speak of the devil."  
  
  
He paused. "What..?" Bulma smiled and shook her head, lashes lowering at him as she giggled. "Nerver mind." He rolled his eyes. Humans and their bizarre phrases.  
  
  
"What can I do?" she grinned secretly. Vegeta arched an eyebrow and looked at her.   
  
  
"Explain to me why you weren't..." he trailed off. The air was suddenly different to him. More spicier.. more...aroused. He sniffed and shifted his gaze to her. "Just what the hell is going on here?"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There was arguing going above. Well, maybe not arguing. Trunks narrowed his eyes at the ceiling. Vegeta was making her upset. No, Trunks scowled, that wasn't very nice.   
  
  
Vegeta doesn't know what he has.. Trunks growled and looked around. No one was around. Mrs. Briefs was on her walk with her husband... Bulma was upstairs...with Vegeta, he thought disgusted.  
  
  
He look a knife from the sink and slammed it into the counter. The metal stuck in, smiling crookedly at him. Trunks smiled back. He looked up at the ceiling, imagining his plans come to life.  
  
  
Not now, he reminded himself. Not yet. He took out the bent knife and smirked at it, chuckling. But soon, he promised himself. Soon.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"What do you mean, Vegeta?" Bulma widened her eyes as she was cornered into a wall. "There's nothing going on." What was wrong with him, she asked silently, why is he looking at me like that?  
  
  
"Heh, that's funny since how I see it is that the facts tell me otherwise." His hand slammed down beside her cheek, trapping her in one side. She looked at the muscled arm and her breathing increased. Vegeta looked down at her through hooded eyes as his other hand touched her cheek.  
  
  
He leaned down and inhaled her neck and then her chest. He stopped and smirked. "The nose doesn't lie." Bulma widened her eyes. What the hell was he talking about?  
  
  
"Vegeta, wh-"  
  
  
He grabbed her by the wrists and held her up against the wall. "Let me just tell you that getting such pleasures will only harm you in the end, woman." Bulma scowled. "what pleasures? You hardly go near me anymore unless to insult me!"  
  
  
Vegeta chuckled in amusement. "Now I wonder why that could be...?" Bulma glared at him and shook her head.  
  
  
"I don't understand you."  
  
  
"Good."  
  
  
"Why do you even stay..?"  
  
  
He was at a loss for words at that question. He cocked his head to one side, his smirk fading. "Why do you think? For the equipment and shelter." Bulma suddenly had a smile.  
  
  
"If I know you, Vegeta-"  
  
  
"You don't." Vegeta growled, tightening his grip on her wrists. She continued through the pain, "If I know you, you wouldn't accept my help or anyone else's. You're too strong for that, too proud." She leaned in so that their noses almost touched, looking into each other. "You wouldn't admit to being weak." He suddenly slammed her to the wall.  
  
  
"For one, what makes you think you know me? Two, I am not weak. Three, you're just a whore for my convinence. I just tired of you quickly." Bulma winced. Damn, those words stung at her but she continued.   
  
  
"I think I know you because you're not that hard to figure out," she ignored his low growl at that, "and if I'm such a whore, why do you continue to strut around me, like some dog?"  
  
  
Vegeta rolled his eyes. Dog? Oh that's right. That Chikyuu-sei animal thing that makes alot of noise. "Woman, you're not making any sense. Since when have I strutted around _you_?" You was accompanied by a tone of disgust.  
  
  
It was her turn to roll her eyes. She gave a jerk of her head to her breast. "Explain that."  
  
  
"..Woman, are you so stupid that you don't remember breastfeeding the brat..?"  
  
  
"No, no, the other breast! Explain how come its leaking milk."  
  
  
Vegeta decided the woman _was_ too stupid to remember. "Its a trait of lazy mothers." Bulma scowled. "You idiot! I know you came up here and snuck a drink!" Vegeta was too shocked for words. Then the shock died away.  
  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
  
"Don't try to defend yourself!" Bulma sniffed and smiled. "Its okay, as long as you admit it, Vegeta."  
  
  
"Listen, Woman, I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole let-"  
  
  
"Yet here you are, touching me right now. Contradiction, eh, Veggie?"  
  
  
He narrowed his eyes. This woman would never give up. No matter what, she would keep fighting him. "Don't call me that." He leaned in, noses again brushing. Her blue eyes glinted in the dimness of the room.  
  
  
"I can call you anything I like."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It was quiet up there, Trunks thought and narrowed his eyes as he set down the bent knife. He walked to the doorway of the kitchen, looking upstairs suspiciously. Too quiet.  
  
Trunks walked more, handling the stairway rail. Too quiet for his tastes. He slowly went up the steps, eyes on the hallway.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Vegeta grabbed her. "You will give me the respect I demand." Bulma smirked.  
  
  
"Oh and how shall I do that? Bow down and worship you?"  
  
  
Vegeta frowned then a glint came into his onyx eyes. His smirk slowly came back to his lips. "No." He pushed her down. "You are a whore. You deserve to be treated like one."  
  
  
Bulma widened her eyes. "Nani?" Vegeta slipped off his training outfit silently, watching her. "You will pay whats due to me." he said. She nearly stumbled away but he held her in place. She looked up at his determined look then down at his organ. She took it in, covering it with her mouth. Vegeta restrained a moan. The feeling that filled him was glorious. No more holding back. He needed a release after so much training.  
  
  
She worked up and down, making sure to get everywhere. Vegeta grabbed fistfuls of her hair when she went slower. "Faster, bit..bitch." he hissed from clenced teeth. Sweat had dripped down from his brow and collected around his nose and upper lip. "Fas..faster.."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Trunks's hand wavered over the doorknob. The whispering and scent of arousal emitted from behind the door. No. He stared at the door. It couldn't be...  
  
  
The memories came back.  
  
  
Their moans. Them joined together. Her legs wrapped around his. _"Gohan..." _How he moved with such ease. _"Bulma..." _Trunks trembled with rage, his power going up a notch. He narrowed his eyes. "You won't take her away, again." He smirked. "Shes mine."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He stiffened, panting. Part of him was alert, barely aware of the power that the boy was going. He was questioning why he was outside the room, not moving. Just being there. Another part didn't care. That part wanted the pleasure this woman gave him.  
  
  
Bulma closed her eyes as she finished one last stroke. Vegeta's eyes widened at the climax and grabbed her head, pushing the rest of him into her mouth as he spilled his seed into her. She swallowed and tore away from him, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand, panting. Vegeta took deep breaths and finally gave a Hn.   
  
  
She watched as he got up and slowly dressed himself. "Hey, what about me?" she complained.  
  
  
"What about you?" He slipped into the legs of the training clothes. She parted her robe to reveal her aroused nature. Vegeta gave a cruel smile. "And what do you want me to do about it?" She looked crestfallen.  
  
  
"Vegeta..."  
  
  
"Do what I did for a year." He turned and walked to the door.  
  
  
"And what was that?"  
  
  
"Self-play." He walked out the door, wondering if he hallucinated sensing the boy's ki by the door. He shook his head. Nah.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Bulma looked down and sighed, closing her robe. Somehow, somewhere deep inside of her, she knew Vegeta would do something like that. "Fuck him." Then she smiled bitterly. As if he would let her.  
  
  
A knock drifted her out of her thoughts. She looked sharply and saw a blushing Mirai Trunks at the doorway. He shifted his gaze to the floor then shyly looked at her. "Anything wrong, Bulma?"  
  
  
"Hmm? No, no." she sighed. "Nothing you could fix, anyway." She looked out the window at the sun. It was almost afternoon. Almost time for work. She smiled again. At least she had something that would take her mind off things.  
  
  
His hand came unto her shoulder. She wondered again how he could be so fast and quiet.. Must've gotten it from his father, she thought. "Are you sure?"  
  
  
"Yes.." His hand seemed so powerful and heavy. She looked over his shoulder, now nose to nose with him. She blinked, surprised. He was so close... Bulma forced a smile. "I'm okay. Just haveta take a shower and go to work."  
  
  
Mirai nodded, letting her brush past him, closing his eyes at the feel. They were so close. He gulped and forced down his need. Not yet. He turned just as she left the room. Mirai sighed and looked down, narrowing his eyes. Suuure, she would let Vegeta have her then leave her so unfulfilled, but one simple kiss to happen between them and he'd be condemned forever.  
  
  
It'd be worth it, he thought. Just to have that sweet temptation to be real. It'd be worth it. He looked down at the sleeping Trunks. Somehow the kid slept through all the excitement. He chuckled, imagining him instead of Vegeta, kneeling as he had Bulma. Would baby Trunks sleep then as well?  
  
  
  
  
  
He walked out of the Nursery, eyes on his room. Faintly, he heard showering coming from the room three doors down. He opened his door, looked around in the room. It had a warm, cozy feel to it...and the scent of the woman he loved was laced through the air. His stomach did flip-flops at the thought of Bulma once being here. He walked and sniffed the pillows. Her scent was very faint. Very, very faint. As was Vegeta's. He scowled and threw the offending pillows that smelled most like Vegeta away and kept the ones that smelled most like Bulma.  
  
  
This is as close as I'm going to get to true Paradise, he thought as he sniffed a pillow. His hand traveled downwards to his pants, freeing his lower anatomy of its confines. In his mind's eye, as he listened for the showering, he was entering her room, eyes on her bathroom.  
  
  
He stroked himself. He was entering her bathroom. The shower was loud so she couldn't hear him, or so he thought. She was calling out, "Who's there?" Trunks took heightened breaths as the tempo slowly started to increase.  
  
  
Trunks wheezed and gripped on the pillow tighter. The curtains were parting and she was shampooing her hair, unable to see him. His hand went faster. He put his hands on her shoulders, pressing himself to her, kissing her neck. Her hands went down and he massaged her scalp. Bulma was moaning as he pressed her to the tiles, himself panting.   
  
  
He flipped the pillow down and started to move against it, eyes closed, lost in his fantasy. She was moaning as he slid into her. The whispers of his love made her happy and she was his. Bulma's head was tossed back unto his shoulder as she moved with him, barely able to speak right. He went faster against the pillow, imagining it was her smooth, pale bottom.  
  
  
The moment of climax made him gasp as he clenched his member as a poor substitute for her walls. She slid down, looking at him in awe. He kneeled down and kissed her. Trunks panted as he fell to one side, watching the pillow he had used with dullness. He pulled it to his chest, listening numbly as her shower ended and she dressed. He started to cry into the bed, hitting it.   
  
  
Why couldn't it have been real?  
  
  
He looked up, frowning at the ceiling. The release wasn't what he wanted. He wanted her.  
  
  
Trunks looked at the wall, attempting the impossible by trying to look through the walls and see her. She was probably putting on her clothes, her panties first..then her bra.. Her body, oh Kami, her body. His penis went stiff again and he growled, hand curling around it and imagining her with him again.  
  
  
The wait was torture. But he knew it would be worth it.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Next chapter: Creepers jeepers! ^.^ Always wanted to say that, lol. Anyways, the next chapter is sort of alarming (just to let you know). Sorry for the late update. I was camping in the mountains for vacation and of COURSE I missed some college credits and important-to-do stuff. ~.~ Instead of writing, I had to do stupid extra credit! I haven't even had the time to email some of you people for reviewing! I'm so sorry! Forgive bad A-chan! ^___^ Bad! Bad! /slaps herself on the wrist\ XD Ooowww... A-chan hurts now..  
  
  
anyhoos, I'm sorry for not being able to update daily like I always do. Ai, a quick, quick, QUICK shout out to my loyal readers as of far: Emily, Kaiya (would of emailed you but we talk online, don't we /wiggles eyebrows. eyebrows fall off\), elvenangel, Speedy (/hispanic accent\ Eh, its Speedy Gonzalez! /normal voice\ sorry, couldn't resist), Nephiel Nephilim (didn't think you were a maniac, buddy), Baby Buruma, I luv Vege (I do too, lol). That's about all of them. ^^ A gracias, arigatou, hell, just many thank yous. ^^ ooooh, that ryhmed.  
  
  
And before I go, I'd like to say this small chapter's dedication to Mel, the anonymous, most stupid reviewer ever: You're so stupid. Couldn't you read the ANs, dumbass? /in gentle, slow voice that is used with children\ Gohan ... isn't ... dead ... in ... this ... fanfic. Otherwise, who'd ... ah, don't wanna give it away. ^^ Especially to such a SPECIAL (emphasizing special) person who made such an INTERESTING review.  
  
  
Damn. My next class is starting soon. A big sayonara guys and I apologize greatly, deeply, sincerely for the late update. Please don't burn my little bum. /rubs bum\ Jack pretty much did the rest anyways. For details go to www.Jackburnedmybum.com j/k. ^.^  
  
~ A-chan, Lil Sun Goddess of Japan. /wink\  
  
  
  



	4. Manipulation is the Key: Part One

Chapter Three: Manipulation is the Key

by Amaterasu

Part I: The Madness

He _wasn't _Vegeta. He wasn't.

Ever since he could remember, she was the light of his life, his angel, his Savior. The only thing that could save and at the same time, damn him.

He looked down. Three days had passed and he could barely touch her. He could barely smell her. Out of his reach, hating him, damning him, damning him to hell for what he did, for what he wanted...for what he made her do against her will.

He didn't wince at that thought. Against her will. Portrayed as some romantic notion, along with jealousy and roughness in those stupid love books...it wasn't as romantic in real life. Not with the real tears, the real struggle, the pain that came after it for both parties. Yet, he didn't flinch at the thought. All he could think was it was her fault. Her fault for tempting him, for letting him go that far. For dancing with him, for drinking and eating with him, for making him go off the edge when she kept calling him Vegeta.

Vegeta. He threw the wine bottle against the wall, screaming, yowling, and languishing in his agony and misery. That name. That man. That...father of his. He could still remember it in his head; her moans, and her cries for him. He wasn't Vegeta.

Trunks put his wavering hands to his head and rocked himself against the wall. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was going to love him...and hate Vegeta. Vegeta was the wrong one. Vegeta was the true rapist.

I must be slipping into madness, Trunks thought as the tears came down his cheeks and he looked at the broken black glass in the alcoholic swamp. It felt strange and new, like passing from one world into another and then another, the thoughts flashing by so quickly. Her face, her fingers pointing at him, covering her face, running into the bathroom. Her words: Monster. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

Trunks tugged harshly at his hair, pulling tufts of the matted monstrosity out. He screamed again. "IT'S NOT FAIR, DAMMIT! IT'S HER FAULT! IT'S HERS!" Loud sobs bubbled out of the once proud man. Her fault for giving in, for letting him in, for letting him kiss her and hug her, squeezing her delightful body against his, rubbing and rubbing- more kissing, yes, her moaning-

He groaned, holding his head, feeling aroused and a spark of more hatred at himself. He longed to put the blame on someone, anyone. Anyone but her would do...his innocent angel that could do nothing wrong but succumb to her desires that she felt for him, for-for-

Vegeta. He narrowed his eyes.

"It's...it's Vegeta's fault," he rationalized, laying down on the floor, straight as a pole, looking up at the ceiling as if it were a star-studded sky. "It's...his fault." he began to shiver, smiling, with tears still coming out. "He did this, not me...not her. It's his fault."

It was his fault. If he hadn't have come into the picture, she would've been his from the start. She would've called his name instead of...Vegeta. Trunks' mouth was stuck between sneering and smiling, grinning at one moment, yowling like a cat at the next, and laughing happily (in a perverse way) in another.

And he should've done away with Vegeta from the start, too. He was so stupid, thinking of waiting subtly, trying to first seduce the woman before killing the man. What a fool he was. The way to undermine and totally captivate her was to hold her as she mourns the loss of a mate. Ah well, learn from your mistakes.

He began to snicker and snort, rocking back and forth on the floor, rolling, finding his logic so clear yet so hilarious. Hilarious what he would do to Vegeta and how Vegeta would beeeeg him to stop. He could just imagine it. The "proud Saiya-jin warrior Prince" down on his knees, kissing Trunks' feet, crying for mercy. Trunks would kick the shit in his face, and laugh, and kill him. No, no, not only kill. Castrate him. Butcher the bastard's balls. Harm his pretty face. Show him that Trunks was no one to be messed with. Only after that exquisite torture would he finally do the deed.

Or, he looked at the wall, finally stopped moving; he could continue the torture. Leave him out mutilated, scarred, handicapped...and at the mercy of vengeful old enemies. He widened his eyes and looked like he was in euphoria. A simple little slave for a hateful, grudge-filled alien.

It was genius. It was pure genius. And only he could and would make it happen. And then make Bulma his.

-----

"Are you all right?" Was the question of the day, of every day now. Bulma shuddered knowing why it had started.

"Go away," she told her mother and stayed in the hot tub. At least it was hot when she first when into it. When did she get into it? Bulma looked at the rose tinged water and told herself that information probably didn't matter right now. At least she thought it didn't.

"But-"

"Go."

She heard her mother hesitate outside the door, then leave reluctantly. Like a sad little girl whose favorite doll had been lost.

Bulma gave a snort at that. She _was_ a little doll. Made for primping, for love, for constant affection and attention. She looked down at her wounded wrists. Did she cut them today? Maybe. She lapsed into blackouts so often now that she forgot what day it was. What day was it? Tuesday? Thursday? Maybe Sunday, the supposed Holy Day. Did he rape her last Sunday?

She supposed so, laying back and looking at the ceiling, that she was still in a state of shock. Her mind was removed from her body, acting cold and rational towards everything. Why did he do it? Why? Why?

Tears came to her eyes and her heart was left commandeering her body. The pain, the anger, and all the fear and confusion were in her veins and she wanted to let it out. Why did he...did he want her like that? Was it how she dressed? Was it something she said? Was he just a sick little pervert? Did _she _want it?

She curled up into herself, letting out the sobs, hoping to God that he died. That he was killed somehow by God's hand. Vegeta...she wanted Vegeta.

"But when had Vegeta cared for you?"

She screamed. Trunks was here. Oh god oh god oh god, she fumbled out of the bath tub and clung to the wall. Screaming and screaming, reaching out wildly for a towel, something to cover her up, make him stop make him stop make him stop-

She stopped when she realized Trunks was not in the room with her. There came a feeble knock at the door.

"Mommy," she breathed, eyes still glued to the plaster on the wall. Mothers are safe. She looked at the door that seemed miles... perhaps light years away (like her soul that she sold to the devil if it was true that she wanted Trunks/wait, no, no, that's not right/yes it is) She grabbed her hair, whimpering, taking turns balancing on each foot.

"Sweetheart," Mrs. Briefs said to the door. "Are-are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Bulma said. "I'm just-..." she looked down at the mess of all the bottles of shampoo and soap that had fallen down, her lithe body covered by a measly blue towel. "Just washing myself. Just-just washing myself." She laughed a little, wavering on crazy and insane. It became loud and foolhardy. Trunks had never been here, she laughed. Trunks had never been here in the first place. Those thoughts of him secretly here, listening to her, they were just part of the imagination. And that voice, that voice asking when had Vegeta cared for her. That was just her! That was her voice! Bulma couldn't breathe. She was scared of herself all this time!

Mrs. Briefs stared at the door and quietly said, "Are you sure?" She was confused at the laughter.

"I've never been better!" Bulma sang and laughed some more, sliding down the wall kicking up her legs. "La-la-la, suds and soap get you clean, scrub those ears, clean that face, you're gonna make a sparkle-n-"

"Sheen."

Bulma stopped laughing and looked at a dark corner of the bathroom with gleaming eyes staring at her. Her violent feelings in her veins drained with all the blood as she stared into those black eyes she met so long ago.

"Goku," she said softly, looking at his solid tan frame that contrasted severely with the white tiles he leaned against. He didn't give his usual grin but nodded.

"I remember that song. You sang it to me when you were washing me for the first time."

"I...I did?" She tried to remember. It was so long ago. Did she sing that song? "I...don't remember, Goku." She shivered under his gaze and looked away, pulling the towel tighter around her. Goku didn't look how he usually did; he donned his usual outfit, the orange and blue gi...but something was off. His eyes, she realized and looked into them. His eyes were darker.

"They're darker, huh?" he suddenly laughed but he looked straight at her. She pressed herself against the wall.

"What do you want, Goku?" She felt dizzy, as if her head was made out of cotton candy. The pink swirly sugar kind they make at the amusement parks. "Why are you here?" she wheezed, feeling like the ceiling was coming down on her head, her mind and it was all falling; her life, herself, her sanity.

He didn't say anything but kept staring at her with his dark eyes. Bulma's eyes were half lidded and she felt so tired. Since when did she feel so tired?

Goku sighed and got up. Bulma didn't move; she felt too tired, as if her blood really was running out. He kneeled and smiled woefully at her, like she had done something wrong but he found it funny yet sad. He petted her head, weaving his fingers through her wet strands, laughing lightly. He put his lips to her hair giving a small affectionate kiss. He pulled back and lowered them to her ear, hot breath making her shiver when she realized how close they were and how good it felt to be warm after such a long time of being in the freezing cold.

"You're a whore, Bulma," he quietly said, he kept smiling and chuckled under his breath. He shook his head to himself, tossing her against the wall, "A fucking whore." And got up. And disappeared.

----

Her head now felt like blue cotton candy, blue metal cotton candy. It felt so heavy when she tried to pick it up but she had to. She didn't know why, but she had to. They were counting on her. Who? What was counting on her? Trunks? She yelped at that name, the name of her rapist and her son. Her little baby, her violent offender. Both shared the same name yet were so different.

She saw blurs at first. White and gray blurs. So different, it was as if she was being born again, born to be new and oh so lovely and so full of quality. Not the mangled thing she was yesterday and the day before that, and the year before that, and her life before that.

Bulma, it was a kind whisper and she embraced it. So new, so new to her. Being born again.

Hang on. She felt so cold though. She began to shiver as the white turned to black.

Hang...on. The whisper was so distant now and she began to look for the light. She lost her tongue and could only whimper, she was blind and could only grope and grab, she was deaf and could only hear her heart beat dim with every second.

BULMA. The whisper became a yell. Bulma could not hear it.

She saw a light. It was beautiful. She began to laugh and walk towards it, putting out her hands, acting like a toddler. I love you, she said to the light. She didn't know why she said that or why she was here, but she loved the light. For guiding her, for bringing her out of her misery. She had been here so long for so many years. It felt like years, at least; it felt like centuries even. But, she laughed. That wasn't true. And she loved the light.

HANG ON. It had become a howl behind her back. All she could know was the light.

**COME BACK.** It was a violent scream this time. Then she heard it, and the light was gone; she was no longer blind, deaf, and mute.

Vegeta, she whispered. She felt like pink cotton candy again.


	5. Manipulation is the Key: Part Two

Part II: The Beginning of the Descent

"Dum de dum," Bulma looked around and breathed in the fresh air, a humid afternoon with a gentle cool breeze. "Perfect," she sighed. The exact sort of weather that Vegeta would've taken her flying in. If Vegeta did that sort of thing that is. She blew up a stray strand in front of her face. But she could wait until that magical day when he would go, "Say, Bulma, want to go flying with me?"

She snorted. "As if the pig could learn," she shook her head and kneeled in front of the Gravity Room panel. "Men," she snorted again and waved her hand in the air. "Who needs 'em? I've got half a mind to become a lesbian the way Vegeta drives me up the wall!" And, of course, some female Capsule Corp. workers paused in their walk to stare at her. Bulma glared.

"Beat it! I'm not interested!" And the two turned away, looking disappointed. Bulma rolled her eyes. "Everyone wants a piece of me. Me, me, me, me. Why can't they pick on some other woman?"

"Because there's no one more gorgeous, talented, and rich as you."

She humphed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Emphasis on the rich and gorgeous part. A two-for one package to most guys, don't you think?" She turned from the panel, and looked at the man, softening her eyes, "Hey Trunks."

He gave a grin and kneeled down near her. "Hey there."

"Hey," she replied, smiling back at him. There was a silence for a few seconds, with them just looking at each other. Eye to eye, the same pigment, one wondering, the other calculating and turning merry. She broke the glance.

"How is it out here?" Trunks asked, sitting down next to her. Bulma looked down at her wrench and smiled softly at her alternate universe son.

"Hot, sweaty..." she looked away. Trunks laughed, nodding to himself. Exactly how I want you, he told her in his mind's eye.

It was strange to her suddenly. Sitting next to him, that is. It felt so off...so- not wrong- but right in a way she couldn't understand. It was different then what she felt with any other man, even Vegeta.

The wrench felt heavy in her hands surprisingly. It hadn't before. She let it fall to the soft grass with a thud, watching it. The wind blew against her, and she sighed, leaning back and letting her body cool.

She has no idea what this is doing to me, Trunks told himself, no idea. It was a wonder to him lately how his lust had overridden his love for her. Maybe lust and love were the same thing to him. All he knew then was the flowing of her suit against the wind, her head against the soft grass, her mouth open. It would be so easy just to roll over and have her beneath him.

He sucked in his breath and concentrated on controlling himself. No, not yet. He could do that as many times as he wanted to when she was his. Until then, she was fair game to seduce...and maybe, just a little bit... to touch.

She wondered what he was thinking about, if he was thinking about his mother. She was looking at the sky and saw a cloud drift by lazily, as if feeling the heat and sympathizing with the world. Bulma wondered if the other her was anything like herself. Well, herself in this timeline. Was she as kind? How did she get along without Vegeta? Did she have a wrinkle? She chuckled to herself. Vain as always and proud of it. Of course, she didn't have any wrinkles. No version of Bulma would ever let that happen.

"What are you thinking about?" He leaned down and looked down at her. His head was in the palm of his hand, his elbow resting on the soft grass, his face just above hers. His voice was soft and he was scanning her face, especially her eyes. He loved her eyes. Not like pools of water but something more beautiful than her soul. Something that can soar away like a bird, his heart began to beat heavily at the thought. Her flying away...always eluding his grasp.

His hand twitched up and he almost brushed away some of her hair. Of course he put it on his own head and looked out to the city. It was beautiful, vibrant...so much healthier looking than his home.

"Just..." she bit her lip."Things."

"What sort of...things?"

Bulma didn't look at him. "Lately everything's been a mess..." she admitted. "Everything's...gone not the way I would've preferred them to." Like Vegeta.

"Oh?" he leaned in. To his strategic mind, he could exploit this confidence. Use it to his advantage. He suppressed the smile.

"I...it's nothing," she felt the tears well up in her eyes and got up. Trunks was still staring at the spot where she laid. "Nothing," she mumbled to herself, almost convincing her. Why should she be worried? She knew Vegeta cared for her. She knew. But why did she have these doubts? Why did she wait up for him in her bed when she knew he wouldn't come? Just waiting in the sheets, eyes closed but awake to hear him so she could put her arms around him. Just holding him was enough before. Now, she wanted him everywhere, including his heart.

The more she desired what she couldn't get, the more elusive and strange he became. More long hours in the training room, more rants and obsessions about being the best. Not just beating Goku was enough, no, but also beating himself, his mental demons. The ones that haunt him when he looked in a mirror, the ones that held him back and chained him, the ones that had held his heart and held the key to opening it.

"Nothing," she murmured again, looking at the sky. "Just... just my imagination."

Trunks still stared at the patch of grass. He took his hand, and smoothed it over the place and wondered at the warmth, her warmth. If it were to stay there indefinitely, he would've lounged out there for hours, smelling her in the grass, the sweet smell of woman, of her femininity and sweat. He tipped his head and watched her move back to the panel. The wrench was gone from the ground.

Nothing, he supposed to himself while watching her, is everything.

-----

It had been a long night.

She looked at the cold pillow that had no owner, a very long night indeed.

Of course, she was used to them. She chuckled lightly to herself. Before... before Vegeta, she probably would've gone crazy without being touched for so long, for not making love, fucking hard, going gently like the waves. Call it what you like... Bulma had no real name for it. Nothing this strong ever needed a name. It would've been the hardest thing to give up, being with a man, that is.

Yet for Vegeta, it came effortlessly. It disgusted her to have anyone else in her bed, even Yamcha when he offered after Vegeta left. She remembered pushing him out of her bed literally and hadn't seen him since; not that she had cared to.

She touched the pillow. One of these nights she knew that Vegeta would come in and lay with her. She knew that romance wouldn't happen but simply for him to at least touch her without disgust, to have that again before she became pregnant...it would alone be worth selling her soul for. Just for those few short moments of bliss. Not just sexual, but something mental and purely spiritual to her. He set her soul free...she could feel heaven's doors within her grasp and-she closed her eyes to keep the tears in at the memory- it felt glorious. Like nothing she had ever felt before. Like something...something she hadn't dared wish for, much less dream of. A feathery touch of another reality just above the one she lived everyday. Silky feelings of the heart and vagina and body shuddering all at once as the eyes were opened like they've never been opened before.

I miss you, she whispered into the pillow, pulling it close to her and hugging it. It was a poor substitute. It didn't feel at all like him. Not as strong, as firm, as solid. Whoever said pillows are good knockoffs for lovers was a total numb fool. She put her face in it and strangled her sobs. It hurt so much what she felt inside, almost as if she wanted death more than to live like this. To wake up each morning, the same thing over and over... Vegeta was her excitement. He was her highlight of the day. Any other thing would just be normal, not as unique. He...he was everything special and irreplaceable that she couldn't obtain.

She wondered how many women and men fell in love with Vegeta. Many, she supposed, biting her lip feeling a little jealous at the possibility that he might have enjoyed other beings better than her. A trail of many broken hearts was behind him, his proud crimson cape with so many of them sewn on, all each with a name on it: Vegeta.

She hugged the pillow tighter. Poor Vegeta. Poor her. Poor Trunks. We all have had our share of misery in this world and she wondered what Vegeta's was, if he had misery, if it bothered him at all.

Bulma knew it was her curiosity and clinginess that repelled Vegeta. But what could she do? She had tried acting cold, that didn't seem to change anything much and she couldn't keep up such a charade. She bit the pillow at its corner sleeve, feeling frustrated.

God damn it, Vegeta, she thought angrily. Why won't you fucking push aside your pride and admit you at least like me? She had hoped vainly for love, gaining back for a short period those magical, pure and naive thoughts of true love, princess and a prince, and happily ever after. It all rudely came down with a crash when he not only ignored her but also went out into space. That much effort he displayed to distance him from her.

God, sometimes she just hated the bastard so much. She beat her fist into the pillow violently, "Ah, fuck you, Vegeta. You think you can control me? Well you can't! You can't, you bastard!" Tears had started to come out and she beat the pillow-Vegeta-into submission. "BASTARD!! BASTARD!" Stuffing had begun to come out and she threw the pillow against the wall.

A framed photograph fell down and smashed. She was sitting in her bed for a long time. The moonlight from her balcony windows was against her and her rivers became streams then into trickles. She leaned against the headboard, looked over to the frame and frowned.

Vegeta in his ethereal scowl stared back at her.

---

It was interesting how she acted. Bizarre, erratic, most times without sensibility. It reminded him of a particular species he wiped out when he was eleven. He chuckled to himself. Ah, yes, that was a good year for him. He had just begun to get really powerful thanks to those Saiya-jin growth spurts.

The species was particularly stupid-or how most humans would refer to it-slow. They moved around with strange body language and were particularly annoying for its chatter. Vegeta closed his eyes and re-visualized killing them. It was sweet and maybe even merciful (dare he think it) to an extent. No species that idiotic should be allowed to waste space in a universe, much less a planet.

But, it was watching the woman in bed (as well as other places) that really brought him back to thinking of that specific species after all these years. Of course, many times the thought came to him: why not be merciful to her as he was to the Kookoo-jin? And of course, many a time he had to restrain himself from thinking that it too would be sweet to be done with her, especially after she went and got incubated with the brat.

Now, it wasn't as if watching the woman was a habit, far from it in fact. He only looked at her in his spare time (though he wasn't sure _why_ he wasted it by studying her). It wasn't as if he liked to look at her from the trees while she obviously waited for him in her bed. Ha! As if _that_ would ever happen, he snorted. He just did it because... because.... because it felt _interesting_. Yes, interesting. Like his entertainment. She was Yujik to him. A...what's the Earth equivalent...a monkey...ah yes, a monkey... (ironically to him). After so much work, he would never admit to enjoying that small pleasure, her with her crazy mini-adventures, theories, and ways of getting his attention. It pleased him to know that she was desperate for it.

So here he was, leaning against a tree trunk and watching her attack a pillow screaming obscenities and his name. Well, well, well... didn't he feel honored? He smirked and laughed to himself. When he would become a ruler of all things, maybe he shouldn't kill her and just have her for a court jester? He laughed hard at the idea. It would be almost as sweet as murdering her in cold blood to watch her scream and defy him in a ridiculous outfit. Chained up like a slave until she became dead inside. That thought choked the laughter in him in an instant.

He didn't know why that bothered him. Somehow, he wanted to keep that fire in her eyes. The thing that made him come back to her for his viewing pleasure.

He paused. No, he took it back. Vegeta, prince of all Saiya-jins, NEVER went back to anyone, not for anything or anyone. Never.

Bulma had stopped attacking the immobile sleeping object and had begun to crouch on the floor and hold something. He grimaced. He couldn't see it from here but he had a feeling that it had to do with something sentimental.

Ugh. Humans. Pathetic things, really.

Deciding the entertainment was over, he turned and went back to training, this time his thoughts directed on the Older Brat. He floated gracefully over the sleepy Earth, wavering over the gravity room, looking at Capsule Corp. Hmmm..

The boy's energy spiked up and Vegeta sniffed, suddenly guffawing. He couldn't believe it! He slapped his knee, holding his stomach, cheeks hurting from something he wasn't used to doing: smiling. "What a loser," he shook his head, trying to get rid of the stupid Goku-like thing on his face. Go figure. The Brat, horny.

The stench was solid and steadily becoming stronger; Vegeta wondered why he didn't notice it before. To describe a Saiya-jinn's (even a half Saiya-jinn's) musk is.. difficult. So much stronger and powerful.. like a punch to the gut but in a good way. So special is the natural aphrodisiac. It'll make you lick your lips, it will make you look and feel sensuous, eyeing every available partner (man or woman), and uncrossing your legs would never be a problem with this smell wafting up your nostrils.

It's that powerful.. Vegeta was almost getting affected himself.

"Well," Vegeta smirked. "I guess that mystery was solved easily enough." Feeling proud of his effortless detective work (and good mood) Vegeta flew off to the forest to get something to eat. He still couldn't believe that though; the Boy... horny. "Hmm.. maybe there's hope for him after all," he laughed again. Maybe Trunks wasn't a mama's boy after all.

----

It was hard hearing her cry and curse his name; almost as if he was home again. His mother would cry so much when he was young, and always with HIS name in the air.

He grew up despising that name... that name that was supposed to be his heritage and source of pride. Vegeta... for making her hurt so much. Any being that could do that to a woman he loved deserved to die a slow death. No mercy ever to be shown on his soul.

When he was younger, Trunks looked at the ceiling going back in time in his mind, he held his mother when she cried in bed. She felt so soft and vulnerable, like only he had the power to heal her...to hurt her and shake her as if she was a doll. It felt so...breathtaking to hold her even at that young age. Magical, almost. Only he was allowed to do it.

It was an ache in every part of his body as he listened to her through the walls. He shook all over with the effort to restrain himself, looked down at his hands and concentrated.

One, two, three, four...

She was right across from where he was.

...five, six, seven, eight...

It would take barely three steps for him...

...nine, ten...

Her sweet body would be in the bed, just begging for his attention and care, to wash away the hurt that Vegeta had inclined unto her.

...eleven, twelve...

And how her body would just feel against him, her legs-

-thirteen, fourteen, fifteen-

-wrapped around him, her delicious moans soft in his ear, disturbing his hair-

He clenched the sheets and breathed hard as he stared at the door.

Everything was still except for him. The sounds of the tick-tocking of the clock beside the bed lost in the race with his heart. His breathing eventually got quieter, his ears straining to hear her. She had stopped crying.

He leaned in and slipped off the bed, walking towards the door. One little look at her wouldn't hurt, he told himself, especially to parts of himself.

A part of him was still fighting the losing battle, trying to gain back control over his body but it was as if something else took hold of him. Something primal in his blood that he needed to satisfy, if only with a look.

He was quicker than he thought and not even a second had passed before he was looking down at her. Her back was turned to him. Her exposed back, with the beautiful angles and perfect structure of bones with the right tinge of skin. Then he told himself...one little touch wouldn't hurt either.

Trunks was very careful as he got into the bed with her. He didn't know if this Bulma was a light sleeper as his mother was. He started to move his hands over her, barely hovering; afraid to really touch her otherwise the perfect moment would've ended. His hand became more confident and let itself rest on her thigh, on top of that short silk nightgown.

He rubbed and put pressure, dipping into her inner thigh and heard her moan. Then, he decided to put his other hand on her and touch her gently on the slope of her side, moving left to right. He was shaking out of delight. He couldn't remember when he was last this close to her...when he could touch her how he pleased. More importantly, she was enjoying the attention that she lacked so much after all this time.

Growing braver, he gently moved her until she was on her back and proceeded to move when he was stopped. There was a frame in her hands and he smiled, picking it up and instantly grimaced. Vegeta. She was holding a picture of...Vegeta.

He looked down at her, almost with contempt. Even after her words, all that crying...she still loved him? She still wanted that...that fool? That bastard?

There was a deep rage in him that began to brew. It had been in him always ever since he could understand what tears meant and what had caused them in his mother. It was with the same rage he went to Super Saiya-jin. And now it was the same, bubbling, frothing up within him, waiting to spill. His hands shook with power and he wanted to hurt. Anyone, anyone would do. He looked down at her.

_She_ would do.

She was sleeping softly, oblivious to it all. Oblivious that in just a few short seconds, she would die at the hands of her son. A quick snap to the neck, that's all it'd take. That's all both would need.

His hands hovered over her like before only now held the promise of violence instead of pleasure. He wanted to hurt her. Hurt her for choosing Gohan, for choosing Vegeta, for choosing everyone but HIM.

You have no idea how much it hurts, Bulma, he told her silently; to have your love rejected like that. To be chosen last and have something so worthless put before you as priority one.

He almost killed her that night and regretted ever trying it since. All that stopped him was her suddenly leaning into his hands, rubbing her cheek into them and then sleepily sat up and held him at the waist. "I've missed you," she mumbled into his chest and rubbed her face in it, giving small kisses and sighed. "Come back to bed.." she groaned, tugging him down, eyes half closed.

Unable to register what was really happening to him, he let her do it and fall asleep in his arms. He didn't even hold her back. Stuck between the two thoughts of was it real or was it a dream... the tears was in his eyes when it hit him that he almost killed her. Only a second away to snapping her neck and she responded with love. He embraced her and started to cry in her hair, trembling at the reality.

He wouldn't let her go...and he would never harm her, ever. Even if he had to kill himself. He leaned down and whispered with fresh tears in his voice still, "I-


	6. Manipulation is the Key: Part Three

Part III: The Downsides

"-love you."

Her eyes opened and instantly closed against the raving light of the up and about sun. She could hear it laughing at her. Bulma, Bulma, Bulma...let yourself stay up again for that prince of yours that would never come? How pathetic.

"Oh shut the fuck up..." she grumbled, shielding her eyes and shut the balcony doors."I never asked for your damn opinion anyway." The sun had no smart come back. Well, none that she heard anyway.

She sighed and looked down at her hands. They felt so warm. She put them on her stomach and let them trail all over her covered skin. She felt...so good. Bulma looked at the mirror at herself.

Her hair...mussed up and tangled. She wanted to rip it out, scream and cry sometimes when she woke up after waiting for him. But today, she looked at herself carefully...her skin was glowing, she felt like smiling.

'I love you.'

Words...words she hadn't heard in so long, not from his lips.

She touched her mirror-self's lips and leaned in, looking into her eyes, pretending like yesterday and the day before, that it was really him she was leaning to, and not a piece of glass.

It was cold like every time she kissed it. It never felt like him. It wasn't him, and afterwards, she'd feel ugly and ashamed that she even tried. He was dead. He was dead and she'd never see him again. She could only live in the past and pretend.

She felt hands on her shoulders and tensed, closing her eyes. "Gohan..." The shame she felt cloned itself fifty times over as she felt the hands slightly move over her skin, being tough without meaning to. He caught her again, and she could only imagine that she was someone else, somewhere else in another time.

She opened them and looked into the reflection's angry black eyes. Much like Vegeta's, she always thought. She always wondered if all Saiya-jinn's eyes were like that. But then again, she thought, with an inner bitter laugh, she'd never find out, huh? Not now, anyway.

"It's time..." He said with curt anger and didn't linger.

She bit her lip and looked at her partially aged face. It was so amazing how the years floated by like that cloud that little boy once rode. So much like the waters and the sand she rode across, the time she'd never thought would touch her and her present.

Heh...she closed her eyes, got up and left the room with Gohan trailing her. It was so amazing and so, so fucking unfair at the same time.

---

It was hard since her son left. Things had been slower. She felt older without him around, not younger. Time had become her adversary and they both fought for a while like little children. And like a little child, she was the one that was hurt and it showed physically as each year slowly dripped away.

Things are unfair in life she had learned. First, in her childhood, never getting her way, then the boy-loving years of teenage life came and with it pimples. And wrinkles...well, she was not entitled to say. They were all vain and foolish things she thought were unfair before. Especially when compared to – she paused in her work of a new time travel machine – the loss of a husband. Moreover, it was actually...something deeper than that.

The loss of friends was the first. The loss of a home was second. The third was Vegeta. And, she would never forget the day she saw his broken and torn body. He wasn't even together after they were through, those...those monsters. She held back her tears and smiled coldly to herself.

His cold dirtied body had already decayed by the time she arrived. He had no face because it was torn off...everything had been brutally smashed and crippled. At first, she didn't even know if it was he or Goku.

Her blood mixed with his blood would have suited that night, if she had given in. If she hadn't stopped kissing what was left of him, crying trying to piece him together. She wondered what would've happened if she forgot who she was and became Grief. Became Tears and Wailing and Agony and Heartache. She wondered what if she'd just lie down and forget to get up, snuggling up to his cold body.

She didn't remember anything after that. When she got home, she didn't see her car in the garage. Just scrapes and little rocks deep in her legs and knees and elbows as if she had crawled like a snake on its cowardly belly. She was bleeding all over when she looked at herself in the broken mirror in what was left of her house. Distantly she heard a baby, wailing for the attention of its mother.

When she woke up the next morning, Trunks was in her arms; sleeping through the tragedies; not injured by time. She looked on the table and there were uneven locks of black hair, torn from the roots with dead blood hanging off them. Bulma still remembered her hands hovering over the smooth follicles, the part of Vegeta that would always be hers.

So she escaped madness that night. Barely. What had snapped her out of it she wouldn't clearly know to this day. Whether it be her son's cry or herself in the mirror, with not only her blood, but Vegeta's as well.

She shivered against the chilled metal she was at the side of. She could feel Gohan's stare on her. It was frightening how it all started. Her and Gohan... Little by little...inch by inch. It wasn't spontaneous like she made it seem to Trunks. It was like a seduction but it had no start and it had no players. It was a childless game that neither of them had played in the first place.

Bulma rubbed her arms and looked at the cold blue metal that would take her to her son. She blamed herself for this madness. As a mother, she instinctively felt that it was her fault that something went wrong. Along the line something...something she did without knowing could be pinned on her. And Gohan knew it.

Maybe... she bit her lip and gripped the pole tightly, leaning against it... Maybe she had unwittingly raised a monster...like his father.

----

There she goes again, he thought. Thinking, thinking about him, thinking about something that happened years ago. He sneered. Kami, will she let it go? Will she let the ghost rest?

Will I have to sneak into her bed again and hold her while she calls her dead husband's name, he thought. Gohan shook his head violently and looked somewhere, anywhere else than her.

It was a while now before he caught onto her little habit of waking up and kissing the mirror. At first he thought she really was a narcissist like his mother kept snorting she was... then, he looked closer and saw how she stared into the mirror adoringly, almost...hungrily at times for something that she couldn't grasp.

It was sickening too, in a way. Like the way he'd catch Trunks looking at his mother for so many years. When they'd camp together for training, he'd hear her name over and over again, both in daylight and twilight. It was like a non-stop chatterbox for him. Mother this; Mother that; Mother is so wonderful when she does that; that thing reminds me of something Mother would've thought of! Mother, Mother, Mother!

It was enough to drive a person insane sometimes. He felt the need to kill Trunks for this unhealthy obsession he had for his own mother. Maybe even kill Bulma herself.

And then...there were those rare times when Trunks would begin to talk about a woman, a beautiful woman that he wanted but couldn't have. Gohan always held back a sickened frown. He knew who that woman was. Even worse was why he knew Trunks couldn't have her and yet... he would describe in vivid detail to him what he wanted with her, what he wanted to do to her.

He...Gohan closed his eyes, taking a dip in the memory pool. He was so beautiful to him then. Trunks would be sitting down on the grass looking into the fire, his blue eyes sparkling with desire that would make them shinier than usual. He said that he wanted to touch her in more ways then one, in more ways than there were stars in the skies. To feel her against him and know she was his...that deadly possession that made him gasp. In that erotic storytelling, Gohan forgot the woman and imagined himself in her place, being touched by Trunks, being loved by Trunks. And it was then he'd snap out of it and remember what people always called him when he was younger...a fag.

Gohan looked down at Bulma, trying to channel his anger towards her. Trying to transfer all the hate and sadness and heartbreak he had to her. To make her die of ache and pain like he almost did.

Christ...Gohan sighed and turned around. He remembered too many times when he lost his restraint with Trunks...with him sleeping, dreaming of his beautiful mother...looking so much like something out of a dream himself. He touched Trunks many times, touched him everywhere. Dirty, beautiful, wonderful touching. Secret touching Trunks didn't know about and would've hated him for; Heavens knows Gohan hated himself for it.

He breathed in hard and put his forehead into the palm of his hand. And it didn't stop at everywhere either. It was a sin. It was supposed to feel ugly, this way...but, every time he did it, he wanted more. He wanted Trunks to be awake and to moan and groan to the feeling of his hands, to love him. To want to fuck him back.

But, it never happened. In his fantasies, yes. His dreams, always...but reality was a cruel bitch that always wanted it her way. He closed his eyes remembering when he kissed Trunks. Kami...it felt so good. It felt like nothing he'd ever experienced. Warm, tasty...he bit his lip. Submissive to his every motion.

His grip tightened on the rail. It was so true that afterwards he'd only crave more, more and more of this new addiction. It was like a drug. It was...love. Lust. Hate. Jealousy. Fear. All mixed in together. But, most noticeable...was crazed passion, obsession for attention, for need.

He remembered the many times when they'd be training and he'd purposely always get on top of him. Try to...try to fight him as best as he could. But also, to get close to him like that while he was awake. Heaven, the moments of ecstasy that would keep him awake all night as he looked at the sky, trying to remember every single detail.

Afterwards, he would want him much more. And started to hate him even more. Despise his blood. Want to make him suffer. Every training session became a little more hard-core, a little rougher. If he found the chance to kick Trunks when he was down, he did it without hesitation. In him, he saw himself. Something that was once innocent and frail in the spirit; something that loved without hesitation and was so pure, something that couldn't hate. And crushing that like a flower under a thick black boot was... exhilarating. A necessity so Trunks wouldn't become a fag like Gohan.

It was...fun... in a sick way for him. To see him toughen until he wouldn't cry anymore. Until one day, that pretending not to feel the pain grew into actually not feeling it. And, he would remember one time...he closed his eyes harder as a final attempt for the images to stay at bay...when he went too far with how he felt about Trunks, when he got too close.

They never talked about it after it happened. Trunks, the innocent, lovely boy he was never doubted that it was part of manhood, just another part of training. To Gohan, it was more. It was a new level and he knew that with each training session, it would be harder and harder to control himself until he finally fucked the boy's brains out in anticipation of his death. Kami, he chuckled to himself. How sick he sounded. But...

Blood trickled down Gohan's chin and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Kami...how that seemed so inviting to him right now. With Bulma building another Hope, as soon as he would see Trunks, the first thing his libido would think is, Fuck that until it can't scream anymore. And, that was what he was afraid of. What he wanted but knew was wrong.

He licked his lips and put a hand through his hair. Sometimes he wished his father were still around to help him. Or at least to restrain him. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head knowing that his father would enjoy that very much. His father, his teacher.

----

It was like a story.

The way it was going, it was like a story being told in images. Maybe a dream was a better way of defining it. Bulma put a cigarette in her mouth, maybe not. Maybe it really was a dream. She took a long drag on her cigarette and wondered if she really cared what it was anymore.

The clock on the wall to her left was two minutes away from noon. It was a strange clock, her father designed after his little cat. Its tail swishing, its' big eyes watching, recording, knowing, that psycho grin that stretched to both sides of its face. It had creeped her out ever since she was a little kid.

Every now and then she'd advert her eyes to the side to sneak a look at the cat and would look back at her almost-empty case of cigarettes. The economy of the world was slowly building back up since the termination of the androids. And thank Kami for that, she chuckled to herself. For a time, she almost thought she'd go crazy without her smokes. Hell, she would've even ripped each of the androids a new one if she went a month without them.

No one understood why she never quit the dirty habit. Maybe it was because everything else was taken from her in this world that she felt the need to latch onto something other than chocolates. Something that would bring her a little closer to the people that was not here anymore. She took another drag, letting it stay a little longer to burn her lungs and enjoyed the pain. Bulma blinked back the tears and put her forehead into the palm of her hand.

It was so hard some days. Even with the smoking and the work, something...anything, even a stupid spoon would remind her of the past. She knew that she should move on, but move onto what? A future of being alone? Looking forward to death? Having no real purpose in life?

She'd begin thinking and thinking. One thought led to another, and another...and then she'd be thinking so much about everything. So many thoughts in her head...death, love, sorrow, happiness... it'd lead her to imagining so many different things, suicide for one.

She put out the cigarette and reached for another.

She wouldn't kill herself. At least, not yet. But sometimes...she'd catch herself thinking about it. Off-guard most times. Like if she'd be working with some toxic materials, she'd wonder what'd happen if she had an accident...or if she were making dinner, what would happen if she cut herself too deep?

What would it take to push her over the edge, she wondered to herself these days after she would have an argument with Gohan. She was such a chicken shit sometimes, you know...through the brave act that she put on for others, that's all she ever was. A chicken shit little girl who wanted it her way or the highway.

No, she wouldn't do it yet.

There were the moments when she'd lay awake at night, the times before Gohan entered her bed, and she wouldn't cry. She'd stare at the balcony window, remembering times when she would wait for Vegeta. Wait and wait for him. He never came back to her.

Her hand was a little shaky with the cigarette as she lighted it. Her fingernails were dirty with oil and grime, skin etched with work. Like an artist's. She bit her lip as she tried to focus her shaky hand with the lighter. "Come on, come on..." she put one wrist over the other, putting it to the table. The stick fell from her grip and the lighter tumbled to the floor when the cat started to yowl.

"Christ!" she cursed and looked down at the fractured cigarette and open lighter. The cat continued to sing its' high pitched praises. "Fucking Kami Almighty..." she shook nervously and gasped. "Kami, I hate that cat...I hate it, I hate it!" She looked up and made a fist...and then took a cup and threw it.

At first, it was like slow motion. You know...that fast-slow reality you're stuck in, when your heart jumps a beat and you're between feeling dread and excitement. It fell from its high place in Heaven, tumbling down and down thanks to a fallen angel. The cup splintered into porcelain slits, jagged teardrops that rained mercilessly on the tiles.

The cat's wide smile broke and its' swinging tail swung on the floor as it bent over itself, bowing down to Bulma. When it was on the floor, broken to bits, she stomped on the pieces crying, "I hate you, I hate you, I've always hated you!" She kicked the head of the cat into the wall. "Go to hell, go to hell! I HATE YOU!!!" Bulma screamed. "Do you hear me?!! I HATE YOU!!"

She always hated the cat. Always. It represented the happiness and naivety she lost, it made her think of her father and mother and the times that couldn't be. It made her think of Vegeta. She hiccupped and hysterically laughed. Above all else, it made her think of Vegeta. Vegeta, who practically had nothing to do with this absurd looking clock that her father made. She put her hands through her hair, laughing a little harder, a river of wet make up and itchy salt dripping down on the floor.

The stupid clock reminded her of Vegeta...because to her, it was Vegeta. She shook her head, sobbing and laughing at the broken cat face, who was now smirking at her. She shook her head more, "I hate you," she said to it, backing away as if it were coming towards her. "I hate you, Vegeta. I hate you. I've hated you since I first saw you," she referred to her childhood years. "Now look who's taller? That's right, me. I'm the taller one. I can stand over your little body and laugh in your face." She smugly smiled and hiccupped, pointing at the face. "See who the pathetic thing is now... that's the last time you'll ever cross me again, Vegeta. The last time..." she stopped, looking afraid all of a sudden. "What do you mean by that, Vegeta?" She was against the wall, staring at the cat face.

It smiled at her. No, no, it smirked. It smirked at her. It was just laying there, watching her...watching her with those black eyes, judging her. "What do you want from me, Vegeta?"

She screamed when it moved. Jerkily at first, in one direction to another...as if a boy with a remote control car were driving it. Then it began to slowly drag itself to her.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME, VEGETA!!" she ran to the counter and threw dishes at it. It kept moving and moving towards her as if it could pass through whatever she could throw. She climbed on the counter and threw a tray of dishes and knives, screaming," LEAVE ME ALONE!" In her mind, she knew that it wasn't wise of her to provoke Vegeta like that. She should've kept in mind that he was unbeatable and held a grudge. But oh she couldn't help it! He was down and out and it was her moment to tell him to fry in hell for all he was worth!

The cat head was so close to the counter that she stood up and ran on it, and slipped. She grunted and moaned against the tiles of the counter, running her hands over it. She drowsily got up and looked over her shoulder.

The cat face was brokenly grinning at her with its cut edges.

She shivered and tried to inch away with her elbows, watching it. "What do you want, Vegeta..." She listened and continued, "Why, Vegeta? Why do you want this?"

It was just staring at her. "Vegeta...Vegeta, I don't see the point in you staying here anymore." she backed away a little. "I'm sorry, Vegeta...I didn't mean to make you angry." Anything to make him go away, she thought. She'd grovel like a dog for him to die.

"No...I won't come there." the clock head was staring at her, inching forward as she inched back.

"I never said that... No, stay back." her eyes softened with desperate tears. "Please...please, Vegeta. I didn't mean it. Stop..." she began to cry again, and bumped into the counter, watching it zip slowly towards her, "I love you." The head stopped. In the distance, crickets in the kitchen gave a violin lesson to the air and in the living room, and a roach scurried past her fingers. She only felt his fingers on her hands and only heard his voice in her ear.

He was saying something to her...his voice so quick and so hard to understand. It was in a different language, in another tongue with a new sort of tone. It was tender or maybe she just imagined it. She closed her eyes when she felt his lips trail from her ear to her cheek.

Her lips were open as she breathed...in...he was biting her on her neck...out...he was rubbing his nose against the side of her head...in...his hands were on her body. Vegeta... she started to cry quietly, the tears coming down her cheeks. She couldn't believe how long she waited for this moment. How many times had she told herself, thought to herself, "I've given up hope on this impossible dream." Her hands shook. Her head shook. She was a Californian earthquake. A Hawaiian volcano waiting to erupt. A Las Vegas jackpot that had just been won. She was everything in action, her blood cells moving, threatening to burst within her veins from the elated, confused, and utterly rapt feeling she was experiencing.

"Vegeta," she moaned against his lips and then went cold. Vegeta never kissed her on the lips. The volcano went cold and the lava never poured out. The earthquake was a false alarm, so go home and eat your dinner, folks. They found out you're actually under-aged and the jackpot went back to the hotel. She opened her eyes and stared.

It wasn't Vegeta who was kissing her, she cried silently, the bile tossing and turning in her stomach, burning holes through her stomach. He didn't have a face, she convulsed, looking at the thing that looked back at her. It didn't have eyes, it didn't have a nose, no lips, no cheeks, no eyebrows...just a mass of red muscle where a face should have, could have, would have been. "You're not Vegeta," she said quietly. The thing pulled back and looked at her. But how could it? She screamed to herself, the tears trailing after their clones, one after the other, pop pop pop... How could it fucking see her? Oh god, she realized, shaking her head... she let it touch her...let it...kiss her... How.. kiss? What?

"You're not..." tears, hiccups, shaking her head she refused to believe. "You're not...you're not Vegeta." The name broke her tongue and she hysterically laughed, producing horrific sounds from her throat. "You're," she laughed as if she was a little kid at a birthday party and she pushed the birthday boy into the mud. "You're not-" she keeled over and pounded the tiles, screaming with hilarity. "Yes, no, no!!" she held up a hand and gulped in some air. "Let me guess...let me guess who you are."

The figure regarded her silently, arms at its side. It wore Vegeta's clothes, the outfit he wore the day he died in fact. But, she pushed that aside, grinning, enjoying this game. Time to play, time to play! "Let me guess..." she put a serious face on."You're...that guy all those years ago who managed to have sex with me in the steam room."

It crossed its arms, and she felt the impatience seeping through the air molecules. She burst out laughing, pointing her finger at it. "You should see the look on your face!" she slapped her knee, pointing still. "Hilarious! It's a Kodak moment. So, no...you're not him, eh?" She went 'hmmmmm' and tapped her chin, pretending to calculate something. The thing didn't look amused. "Let me MUSTARD! Aha! Where's your wrench, buddy?"

There was more silence if you didn't count the blue eyed wretch who found everything funny. "Ahaha, geesh." she rolled her eyes and sniggered to the cockroach three tiles next to her, "SOMEONE'S having a bad day." She turned back to It.

She shook her finger at It. "You know what you did before wasn't really nice...pretending to be Vegeta. You aren't Vegeta!" It never budged from its eternal pose. "Now you know you're not Vegeta, right?" she paused to laugh and put her palm to her chest, "and I know you're not Vegeta...okay?" And then she boomed loudly, looking around the room, "and now EVERYONE KNOWS YOU'RE NOT VEGETA!" she turned around and grinned her egg white teeth at the Thing.

"So now..." she crawled over on her hands and knees."Kiss me, you fool!" she mocked in It's face. "Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!" she giggled.

It didn't budge, but it was actually looking behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw the cockroach on the tile still. "What...are you leaving me for HIM?"

"Beat it lady. The show's over." the cockroach told her in a deep voice and crawled to an open cabinet. She stared, blinking. Was that cockroach from New York? And if so, why did it never tell her?

She felt hands on her and turned sharply to see the Thing staring down at her with its no-eyes and she heard the familiar whisper and flinched. Through the staticky language she could hear her name and the Thing's face drifting closer to hers. She fought and cried and went," You're not playing the game right! You're not playing it by the rules!"

And then she felt the wind against her and opened her eyes to a junkyard of death. Bones, buildings, humans, and artificial things intertwined in a graveyard of now-nothingness. No one had a name here, no one had an identity. They were dust or faceless...or beyond recognition. She recognized the place.

She found Vegeta here.

Bulma got up, her knees becoming the San Dimas faults. Where was the Thing when you needed it? She looked over her shoulder, so convenient for a man to do that, leaving a woman on her own. She scoffed and crossed her arms, humphing. Well, she'd show him! She started to walk.

She'd show-her foot bumped into something and looked down at the rolling head. Dull black Saiya-jinn eyes stared at her shins. "Show.. show, show, I'll show," she repeated over and over again, her breathing hitching higher every second. "Is this a joke?" She stepped back, staring at Vegeta's head. She looked around, "IS THIS A FUCKING JOKE?" she screamed and grabbed her heel, throwing it in the distance. "Who's FUCKING idea of a JOKE was this? I want numbers, I want names, I want someone's HEAD on my desk Monday!" A big laugh came out of her as she stumbled into a big pile of junk, nuzzling her head into a leftover human body, going hysterical.

Her laughing stopped and she stared at the chopped off head. Almost like a dream the head was in her hands and she smelled ice cream. "What? What do you want me to do?" She leaned in and watched closely and with complete and utter disappointment when she discovered it wasn't Vegeta after all. Only Goku. She sighed, tossing the head over her shoulder. "What a waste of energy _that_ was."

She walked on more, humming. The dead, sometimes even alive moaning bodies didn't bother her a bit. She just smiled, waved at some poor soul that stretched out a hand for help. "Sorry, it's not really my thing," Bulma said, smiling at the pain that ripped through the person's eyes. Too close to death to even feel anger or resentment, the man quit and went limp, breath leaving him.

"Whoo," she waved a hand in front of her nose, looking at all the dead bodies around her. "SOMEONE needs DEODORANT! Whooo!" She shook her head. "Damn! That's a funky smell."

And then she saw the shack.

It was a small shack... the type crazy bombers in Arizona would live in, typing meaningless threats to the White House, lacing letters with Anthrax, making small people's lives miserable. You know that type of shack... woody, shoddy work, ready to fall apart. Not even fit to shit in.

Bulma skipped around it, giggling insanely. "Someone needs to call their realtor!" She slapped her thigh, cracking up. "I am SO crazy it's not funny! Wait, yes it is!" And laughed more.

For no reason she scratched at the door, feeling like a Grown-up Goldilocks.

_Bulma_.

"Yess?" she sang her name back, smiling silkily. She cracked open the door.

_Bulma._ It was warm, silvery like her voice.

"Yess?"

_Come in. I've got something I wanna show to you._

"Ooh... is it chocolate?" her eyes became childlike and she took a step in.

_Yes._

She scrunched up her nose and turned to exit. "I HATE chocolate."

_Bulmma.._

"Yess?" This game was getting boring.

Anti-fungal cream.

"Ooh," she turned on her heel. "NOW I'm interested."

It was strange being in the shack. Little toy dolls hung from strings tied around their necks. Some stitched and raggedy... others life-size and arms outstretched for a hug that could never be given. She looked around, eyes darting from the dusty window to the glass jars on the shelf. She walked a little more, steps creaking. Something about those jars.

"Like what you see?" A raspy whisper came from her side and she almost expected Vegeta to be there, smirking as always.

But it was only Dr. Gero in a Willy Wonka outfit. He tipped his purple top hat at her, wiggling his facial hair.

"Hmm... is it chocolate?"

He rolled his eyes, smiling, shaking his head. "No way! Only body parts."

"Then I've got NO problem with it then." She grinned.

"Say... wanna see?" He pointed up at the jars.

"Yeah, now that you mention it." She grabbed a jar, wiping the dirt from the surface. The label said Eyes and Bulma felt the need to ask, "So do you use real eyes or what?"

"Of course!" Gero took out his cane and strolled around the shack, touching various dolls. He almost looked like a child molester the way he caressed the body parts. "Everything in those jars came from a real human body!" then he paused, thinking. "Well, Saiya-jin actually if you want to get TECHNICAL."

"Oooh.." that sparked her interest. "I used to know a couple of those."

"Eyes?"

"No, no, Saiya-jinns." She sighed, looking at the black eyes that floated around. "I was in love with one..."

"Oh?" Gero leaned in on his cane, fascinated. "Do tell."

"It's complicated," she waved her hand around, putting the jar back and looking through others. Her fingertips brushed the labels: Cheeks, Nose, Ears, and she picked up the Lips jar, morbidly staring at the floating two things.

"Love is like that, my dear."

"Boy IS IT!" She laughed. "I mean, outside I thought this one Saiya-jin was him. It turned out to just be Goku," she sighed, looking annoyed. "I thought it was Vegeta though... almost would've-"

"Vegeta?" Gero looked surprised.

"Yeah," she smiled.

"You don't mean... Prince of all Saiya-jinns Vegeta..."

"Yeah..."

"Short guy, big hair, kinda like Don King with an overactive temper?"

"Yeah!"

"Dude sporting no face?"

"Yup! That's the fucker!"

"Oooh... What a huge coincidence."

"You met him?"

"Yeah, you could say that. You're actually holding part of him right now."

She stared. Then looked down at the Lips jar, squinting. "...What?" She laughed. Another sick joke... how... perfect.

He nodded, laughing too. "I know! It's amazing isn't it? You know... you might not even be holding this guy's lips if one of my androids hadn't EATEN that face. Boy," he whistled, looking off into the distance, nodding his head and chuckling. "Those androids... always putting strange things in their mouths. You've got kids? Whooo... if you don't, I don't recommend getting them anytime soon. You've always gotta watch the little shitheads or they'll just...blow UP on you!" He gave a big laugh at his small robot joke. He hobbled over and clamped open an eyeball, shaking it at her. "I tell you, they're no easy thing." He sighed, rubbing the eyeball against a cloth, shining it. He inspected it like it was a diamond, some rare and foreign jewel. Then he breathed on it like it was a meatball. He hummed a bit, moving it around so he could stare into the echoing black pupils. He looked behind his shoulder at her and smiled. "They do come in handy though."

"But... why?" She hugged the jar to her plush chest, blinking.

"What?" He continued to smile.

"Why would you chop him up.. into little bits and pieces..?" She backed up, slowly making her way to the door. She looked in the corner and there were bigger jars. Ones labeled Arms, Legs... Head.

"I'm going to make a better Vegeta, my dear," the doctor heezled, walking toward her with the clamped eyeball. She backed away, watching as the room spun. "I'm going to make a better, faster, kinder Vegeta.." he stopped, cocking his head slowly. "Just for you."

"I..."

"Why?... Don't you _want_ a better Vegeta? After all... I did make my androids just so I could do this."

Kinder..

"Well?"

Faster..

"What do you say?"

Better..

"Hmm, Bulma?"

Just for me..

The cockroach climbed up on her shoulder and sighed, talking again in that baritone voice. "I say cut the shit and accept the doc's deal, sweetcheeks." She took another step back and bumped into something solid, looking up to see the Faceless Thing. Worms waved hello as their tails sprawled everywhere, crawling and digging in and out of the Faceless Thing's...face?

Dr. Gero smiled. "Visa or MasterCard?"

----

She shivered, standing in one spot in the kitchen. The air was cool around her, transforming from the warm to a pleasant chill. Well, pleasant to the rest of us; the normal people that is. Bulma in her sweat soaked clothes stared ahead at nothing, seemingly nothing at all. Her lips matched her hair, that sharp blue color with no softness at all. Her skin was pale with a wet sheen to it and the hair on every inch of her body was raised, dewed with fear.

She turned her head slightly, staring at the counter, the cat head staring at her. Her eyes went wide, with fear or realization? Perhaps both; deep fist-grinding fright and dooming fate that she would never escape It. But the question was... was the It really the cat head or Vegeta?

Every morning she would wake thinking of him only. Every night him. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. In the bathroom. In the shower. When she breathed, it was him, him, him. Him with his... beautiful face and those eyebrows; thick and dependable, almost like a spy's. In fact, that was the air around him. Almost like he was a debonair James Bond. Lips always in a smirk, holding a secret that would undoubtedly save the world and doom it at the same time if it, pray tell, fell out of his mouth. Graceful, leaping, and evading.

That's how he was in her dreams. That's how he was in real life. She could barely touch him and he would get out of her reach, just at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes he would reach out his hand, sometimes not. It depended and with that, came her mood of the day.

Her wet sleeve came up to wipe her face of the sweat even though she knew it was impractical. Like it would do any good. She stared at the cat face, intent on finding its weakness, ready to destroy the monster. The crack in the middle of it divided its face in an even split. Like a broken heart, its shattered pleas and yowls were unheard against the tide of indifference.

Bulma licked her salty lips, giggling for no reason. Her head bobbed and she hacked like a geek in the Audio Visual room, pointing at it. "You're the reason why I want to die." She laughed more, head going up and down more frequently. "You're-you're why I always cry at night." Tears began to run down her face. "You're why I hate everything now." The laughter became a gushing fountain of emotion, tone flooding with incomprehensible consonants. "I hate you.. I honestly HATE you this time. You went too far. You were supposed to come back." She took a hesitant step and then paused mid-move. "Too far. You went too far. And now you want me to take you back after all this time... I had to raise a little boy all alone without a father and LOOK how he turned out, Vegeta." She immediately felt awful. She was pinning all the blame on Vegeta. Vegeta who couldn't even defend himself. After all... he was dead, wasn't he? "Do you know how HARD that was..? How.. how much I felt alone? Just for you and your stupid-"she paused to wipe her nose on her sleeve. "Your stupid fucking pride. Are you happy, Vegeta? Are you HAPPY rotting in HELL?" she slammed her fist into the tile, making the cat face jump a bit before crashing back down on the counter.

Bulma stared at the cat face, hating him still. Hating him. Hating this obvious ACID trip she was on, hating the sky, the ceiling, hating how everything was moving in on her and she was running out of air, hating that she couldn't breathe, she was sweating everywhere, that she couldn't scream for help because no one would hear her and if they did, who would care?

She knew one thing and that was the cat's face. She grabbed it, smashing it into the tile before throwing it.

She slid down against the wall and yelled into wall, "-hate you! I hate you!" she turned her face into the wall and cried more softly, "I hate you...I hate you...do you hear me?" she hugged herself. "I hate you..."

The cat's head slowly spun in the center of the floor in front of a mirror that reflected the whole thing. Bulma looked at herself upon the looking glass, and knelt down picking up a clock part and threw the cat's tail at it. "I hate you most of all!"

----

He leaned against the wall, eyes not on her. Bulma blinked through the tears, smiling. She was playing with a clock part, rubbing her bleeding fingers against the rough sides.

He found her like this, in the dark kitchen with a smile and broken clock parts. 'What's wrong with you,' he had asked her. She hadn't given a response. 'Huh?' he asked. 'What the fuck is with you these days?' No matter how much he yelled or even told what was wrong with her, she wouldn't move. She wouldn't speak. She would just look at the clock part; rub it with her finger pads and smile, smiling as if she knew something, a secret.

He sighed and put his head into his heads and slouched. "This is not working..." he muttered.

"Gohan..." he turned to her, surprised at her sudden speaking. She wasn't smiling anymore but did hold the part. Her eyebrows were knotted together, her eyes no longer glazed over.

"What?" he replied, a little annoyed.

She didn't say anything at first, just looked at the part. "Can I ask you something?" Her voice was soft and wavering...like a trickle into a pond.

"You want to ask me something?" He said slowly, straightening himself. "You want to _ask _**me**...something? After I yelled, screamed at you, you not saying anything...wasting precious time...now you want to ASK me something?" He gave a laugh and looked at the ceiling. "It's, it's perfect, really. Trunks is loose in another timeline, we barely have Faith up and running let alone completely built, and you want to _ask_ me something." He nodded, pulling back his lips. "All right, Bulma...all right...I'll play your little game. What is it you want? Hmm? What do you want to ask me? Shoot. Anything." He hit the wall in time with his words, "I. Can. Do. This."

She didn't flinch at his tone, like he thought she would. Bulma blinked at her sprocket and turned it around slowly. She put it in her right hand and then looked at Gohan. "Why did we do this?"

He shook his head a little confused and put up his hand, "Do...what?"

"This." she gestured with her left hand to the kitchen, the ceiling, everything. And to herself.

He was still confused with her vague gestures. He thought she was referring to the mess in the kitchen. "We didn't. You did."

She laughed. "Yeah...it's surprising how you changed in the years." She remarked on his willingness not to take the blame. He was silent, crossing his arms, scowling at her. It was amazing to her how much he resembled Vegeta. Maybe that's why she slept with him in the first place. "I remember when you were a shy little boy...how cute you were." Her eyes were shining. "Remember those days?"

"Those days died with my father and the others."

She looked stunned at first but then nodded, dropping the part to the floor. It spun and its sound reverberated through the room. "Yes, so they did." she looked at the floor. There was more silence. He broke it.

"Why did you make this mess?"

Bulma looked at her knees, bumping them together like a little girl. "Depends on which mess you're talking about," she replied smoothly.

A whimsical smile was on his face before he could stop it. Something about her right now was adorable, a bump in her personality that he couldn't help but think cute. "The kitchen," he sighed and rubbed his head, combing his hair with his fingers. He looked lazily into the kitchen, examining the broken dishes and frantic atmosphere. As if she was running away from something, he observed.

"That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Whether or not you'd believe me."

"Try me."

"The head of the cat clock chased me and then I ended up talking to a faceless...thing...and a cockroach from New York."

"...Yeah," he paused, strangely torn. A part of him wanted to believe her. The other part wanted to laugh at how ridiculous she sounded. But what puzzled him was why he wanted to believe her, at how he was so close to believing her. He looked again at the mess. It seemed almost true. "I'd say... yeah," he didn't talk any more.

Bulma sighed. "I knew you wouldn't believe me." She put her head back and looked up, blinking. Again, Gohan thought she looked adorable against his will. He couldn't stay angry at her for long somehow, like the excuse he'd give to his mother about his pet: "It's not his fault the rose bushes were there." Except, in this situation, the excuse would be more along the lines of: "It's not her fault she's crazy."

He almost laughed out loud. From being unspeakably cold and angry with her, he'd become warm and even adoring her as if she were his pet and she could do no wrong; my, my, he must've inherited his mother's mood swings. But he knew it couldn't be just that. He eyed her sweaty and dirty body, and sighed. He saw Trunks in her, perhaps. And maybe, saw what was there when he was a child: hope.

He shook his head. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Just clean this mess up if you can." He paused, "actually, go work on Faith. I'll clean this up for you." He looked at the level of degradation done to the kitchen, a war zone mirroring the world outside perfectly. Great, making my job so easy. There was a long silence before she answered.

"Gohan... do you even like me?" He paused, looking at the dark kitchen. "Even..." he heard fabric rustle."...as a person, I mean. Not as a lover, a friend, or ev-..even a companion. Just," she paused, "as a person. Am I good enough to be even that to you?"

Gohan was silent, thinking. Why was she asking this? Why was she being so strange? He felt her hands on him, on his shoulder and arms as she slowly turned him around. He closed his eyes, taking in a breath. Split between enjoying it and betraying his love for Trunks, he positioned his face away from her.

She was and she wasn't to him. She used to be, he knew that ... and then he got the sudden sensation something killed off that part and all that was left was a barely human thing. And he couldn't respect what couldn't feel like he did, what thought like he did. It was like all her soul leapt like a ballerina and danced in Trunks' eyes instead.

His eyes were on the floor. Bulma bent her head down to look at them and pulled away, with a nod.

"I didn't think you did either..." She sighed like it was a fact she was only repeating. And left. Gohan sighed, putting his hand through his hair, lingering on the question:

Why did we do this?

He looked at the remains of the clock on the floor and shivered at the haunting grin of the cat's face that lay on the counter.


	7. Manipulation is the Key: Love Drug

Part IV: Love Drug

"So, Trunks is living with you, huh?"

Vegeta didn't answer. Just punch, jabbed and kicked. Goku grinned, dodging.

"I take that as a yes."

Vegeta scoffed and kicked Goku square in the jaw. "Yes," he looked a little satisfied when Goku immediately jumped back up rubbing the spot.

"Ow," he laughed. "A little tense this morning, Vegeta?"

He didn't say anything at first and then stared at Goku, "If you want to talk so much, go home to your little mate, but otherwise remember that he who keeps his mouth shut is less likely to die."

"I take it you're more than a little tense." He got in fighting position and powered up. "Perfect."

Of course, it was all useless. Imaginative banter. An illusion. He wasn't really Goku nor did he have any possible idea who or what Trunks is (which surprised Vegeta a little that this thing would know about it.) He'd have to get the woman later to explain this to him. Wait, Vegeta caught himself. Explain what to him? That a hologram mentioned Trunks without even being told of him? Yeah, sure. Like he'd give Bulma that sort of power over him.

A hologram. A useful tool to Vegeta in his days of glory. Rarely used though; too much widespread use of the vid-screen and scouters. Holograms seemed old-fashioned and cheap.

But once again, he was proved by Earth's inferiority to every other planet he'd graced his presence on by the fact that the hologram was also rarely used; the twist was, because they were so new and expensive. He wanted to laugh out loud at how big the irony was.

While Frieza's empire was collapsing and holograms were dirt-cheap on even a high-priced planet, here it was just the opposite.

And yet, it surprised him today that the hologram would be so vividly like Kakarott. Even with the type of questions. Hell, the real thing hardly even asked questions before compared to this thing, to tell the truth. Something the woman said about interactive interface.

Heh..I'll interact with it.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes and punched Goku in the stomach. He wondered briefly, like he had before when he first started to play with his 'toy,' as the woman affectionately called it, if it could feel pain. If it in some way, was like the real Kakarott. He wanted it to feel pain, wanted Kakarott himself to feel how strong Vegeta became. All by myself, he mocked inside his head, sneering. Hate inside him boiled and he felt the need to kill. That's right, I did it all by myself. I can feel Super Saiya-jin ahead of me, Kakarott. So close, so fucking close. I can fucking smell it now.

And he dodged a punch. It felt half-hearted to him and he responded by a series of hyper-punches, as if to teach the hologram of his arch enemy a lesson. He would've 'played' with his toy earlier if only the woman brought her fat lazy ass out of bed and fixed it two days ago like she was supposed. Man, do all women on this shitball planet use the excuse 'post partum' to just up and do nothing like it's no big deal? If she were SAIYA-JINN, Vegeta thought, it'd be no big deal. In fact, he'd be HAPPY she incubated his brat. If only, if only...

Maybe it was a mistake, he thought out of the blue. Leaving the woman in the house with that... brat. It didn't feel right, it didn't-

WHAM

He fell back, blinking. He touched his lip and looked down at the small amount of blood that seeped out. The hologram whirred and Goku became the exorcist.

"Vegeta, Vegeta, Vegeta-"

The man in demand growled and turned his back on the flailing hologram. "WOMAN! Your fucking worthless contraption broke down!"

"Vegeta-"

"Shut the fuck up." And slammed the door shut.

----

It was every night she'd pray to God for this. She's hope for it every morning. It was every evening when she'd wait. It never happened. It never ever happened.

Until now.

She hummed, brushing her hair, looking satisfied at the rumpled sheets in the reflection. Yes, very satisfied. Of course, it was vague in her mind, very vague. She could hardly remember him...but it was him. Who else would it be?

All she COULD remember was his hands and his lips. He'd never really kissed her before...but she had felt it on her body. What was strange thought, she thought to herself, biting her lip in confusion. It was that Vegeta hadn't tried to take her in her sleep. Which was odd, even for someone as hard to read as Vegeta. Before, she smugly remarked to herself smiling again, that he'd take her anywhere, anyplace, at anytime. Never mind that she'd be working, sleeping or eating. The Prince wanted her and wanted her now. And who was she to turn down a prince?

She chuckled to herself. Maybe he was changing...growing up. Maybe he wasn't as hopeless as she had come to think. Of course...it'd take much more than one night of cuddling that she could barely remember to change her mind about him. But...she sighed and put her grinning face into her hand, it was an optimistic start.

"A couple more nights like that and one whole day of lovin' would be even a better start," she remarked to herself, giggling, "but life's like that," she sighed again, pretending to be disappointed. More like Vegeta's like that.

She picked up the brush to work through her hair again, thinking more about it. It was...simply glorious. She felt him in the bed, the same weight, and the same body structure...his skin vibrating with power. She bit her lip, blushing and laughing to herself. Then his hands on her... oh god, his HANDS. She burst out laughing, kicking her legs into the air. They felt so wonderful! He'd never been so gentle with her before! It was like something out of a dream...in fact, a part of her was afraid it might've been a dream.

"But," she talked to her twinkling reflection, "good thing I was half awake or else it might've all just slipped me!" 'Hmm,' she thought to herself. Maybe that's why he came to me then. Just when I was fed up, he decided just to tease me some more!

She didn't know whether to be mad or to tsk at him for being the naughty little minx this time. Bulma shook her head gently, her face beginning to hurt from all the happiness she was ignited with. "Vegeta, Vegeta, Vegeta...I'll be coming after you soon. I'll show you Bulma Briefs is not one to be teased..."

He had left in the morning, probably off to train, she humphed to herself. Exchanging testosterone with 'Goku' rather than loving me. But she wasn't mad at him, not really. More like, she felt like she was a panther. And her game had left her sights momentarily. "But he'll be back," she promised herself, brushing her blue hair to a silky sheen. "I'll make sure he'll be back...and stay there too."

----

He was staring at nothing at first. Then it all came into focus. Pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Same as yesterday. Except this time, he noticed a distinct change. There were little dots in his pancakes and he poked them.

"They're chocolate chips," his grandmother cheerfully yelled with her back turned. He looked at her with his eyebrow arched up. How did she DO that?

As much as there was a part of him that wanted to ponder this mystery...discover it and somehow exploit it, he knew he couldn't. Not enough time. He had to think about what to do with Bulma...

He looked at the empty used plate next to him and scowled.

And her unsavory mate...Vegeta.

Even thinking his name sounded pathetic and ugly to him. He shuddered and focused on trying to eat, if he could. Now that he thought of Vegeta, the thought turned to Vegeta smirking at him, the mental image that TAUNTED him.

He snarled softly to himself, trying to keep his grandmother from hearing. All that time with that bastard in the Time Chamber...he put some pancakes and eggs in his mouth and chewed. All that time he had thought that at least the guy would be tolerable. That he might fake being friends and it'd be okay. But no, he gripped the fork tightly and bent it, staring into his plate. It wasn't.

No, no, the guy wasn't even good enough to breathe in the same room with. Every day Trunks came up with a new way to kill him. New variations, trying to top himself, always perfecting what he wanted to do to Vegeta. That was one thing that kept him from going crazy. The other was his breaks where'd he sleep for barely two hours before that bushy-eyed troll decided to PMS again.

And he'd dream in those short periods of her, of her grace and how she needed him back at home. His dreams would be different every time. One time she'd be naked and his head would be in her lap, or she'd be fully clothed, or it'd be in-between with a skimpy outfit. It'd happen outside, inside, everywhere, in all kinds of weather. He smiled to himself, remembering a couple of dreams. Yeah, in any kind of weather and still resistant. He chuckled to himself and drank some milk. Those thoughts were one of the few things that cheered him up.

Only of her and her alone.

---

A wooden spoon quietly stirred the red stew, followed by some quick humming. "Oh I told the witchdoctor I was in love with you," Trunks belted out. "Oh I told the witch doctor I forgot the rest of the lyrics," he laughed and continued to sing, grabbing a piece of celery as a microphone, "Da, da, daddidaddida! Oo, ee, oo, ah-ah, ting tang walla walla bing bang! Oo ee oo ah ah, ting tang walla wall bing bang!" Oh God, if Gohan could see him now. Singing (and half remembering) kiddie tunes from childhood.

He came slightly to terms with it. Though he'll always hate the fucker for stealing the original away from him, at least he had this Bulma. Besides, once he saw the little Gohan of this timeline, he'll just kill the little shithead. You know... just in case. It never hurt to be too careful.

He brought up the spoon and tasted it, smiling. Yeah, sure to win Bulma's heart over.

"Hey Trunks!" His grandmother strolled in, dolled up in a jogging outfit. She gave him a warm look. "Cooking? Need help?"

"No, no, it's a surprise for a friend." Of course, he wouldn't say which friend. Though, it probably wouldn't matter if he said it anyway. Not like his grandmother would care.

"Oh how nice!" she chirped. "Now are you sure you don't need help?"

"Nah, that's alright." He forced a smile as he beat the stew, some of it splattering on him. Please let her leave soon, he pleaded to the invisible Gods.

"Ok then! How's everything going so far?"

"Great, Grandma."

"Want me to chop or wash or-"

"No, Grandma."

"How about cookies-"

"Everything's just FINE...Grandma." He finished the last part on a cheery tone to cover up the early harsh one. "I'd really rather I do it on my own. It's a sort of special thing that I want to share with someone I love." He blushed when she cooed and pinched his cheek.

"Got a girlfriend, have you?"

"Almost," he smiled. Guaranteed that is. He laughed a little.

"Oh alright!" She started to jog in place. She waved good bye, breasts bouncing and eye winking. "I set the stove for you, Trunksie! I'll just be out for a light jog." And left before he could sputter a 'NO!'

He immediately went to the stove, opening it, coughing a bit from the small cloud of smoke. "Grandma!" he yelled in frustration, biting his lip. "The pot roast!" he sobbed, getting on his knees and putting his head in his hands, shaking it. "The pot ROAST!"

Vegeta just then walked by the kitchen and stared, shaking his head at all, knowing for sure that something must've gone horribly wrong when he impregnated the woman. He hurrumphed and went on to find the woman, leaving the boy in his... pot roast agony (if you'd dare to call such a hysterical thing anything serious.)

---

"Now does this dress go better with these shoes... orrr," Bulma ran to her closet and brought out red pumps and a tight red dress. "WHAT ABOUT THESE?"

The stuffed bear had no comment. She blew a strand of blue hair from her face. "That awe-inspiring, huh?" She stood, putting the two dresses side by side for a second before picking one up and pushing it against her body.

"To be a sexy bitch or to not be a sexy bitch; that is the question." She laughed.

"I think the real question revolves around your sanity. Gone or not gone?" Bulma smiled, not even lifting her eyes from the mirror. She hugged to grey ensemble close to her body (specifically around the breast area) and smoothly answered, "Hello Vegeta." That's it, Bulma. Nice, easy, yet seductive, cool, and unattainable. He WILL pay for taunting you. You ARE the huntress.

He smirked. It's funny, you see... whenever he does that, it comes with a little chuckle. A sort of "Hmph!" but lighter and so much more... gorgeous. Almost lickable. Him with his always crossing arms pose, just against the doorway. Penetrating, almost like a sexual kind, look in his eyes. He's never looking at just one part of you but everything. Your face, your breasts, your stomach; bad points, good points, things he can take in to find a weakness like the warrior he's trained to be and the virile man he is. "What, no screeching?" He put a hand to his chest, pouting. "I'm so disappointed."

"Say what you want, Vegeta," she held down already curling anger, remembering this morning. She put a big smile on her face, white teeth showing. "It's not going to bother me tonight."

"Oh?" He looked amused, just leaning there. Bastard, she thought. God, does he ever NOT look good? She honestly felt like she looked like shit most of the time (even though she'd never admit it.) "And why's that?" His voice was laced with intrigue and his smell was invading the room, acting just like his eyes: a harsh round of sex for the nose.

Be cool. Huntress. Rowr. "Yes," her lips felt like ecstatic joy hurting themselves from spreading across her face. Rough little minx he's being. Playing stupid. "Because..." she looked at him, eyeing him very slowly from head to toe, pausing at the groin area long enough to give him the right message before going to his face. She winked.

"Because...?" He seemed to be enjoying this. This was new, even for her. A quiet, almost disinterested way to get his attention. A part (if not all) delighted in this, like the little boy he was. She thought she was going to win, but he had a surprise for HER.

Don't give up, it's just a challenge, it's just a challenge. "A woman doesn't need a reason." She threw the dress on the bed, walking slowly to get him to notice her curves. As if he needed to, she scoffed.

"Ah, so... a woman doesn't need a reason to explain herself. What about work? Does a woman need a reason to work? Because I have one." The little Vegeta in him shook his fist at the victory he received, watching a brief look of outrage sprout over her face.

Fuck hunting. This bastard's ass is mine, she thought. "What do you mean?" The tone underneath the calm quivered with rage.

"Your so-called 'toy' broke again. I thought I said get it fixed."

"WHAT? You come in here for ME TO FIX SOME SHITTY THING?!"

"Shitty is right! Most of your contraptions can't last two weeks let alone a promised lifetime!"

"Oh so now you insult my work?"

"What work? I've trained with scrap metal that does a better job."

"Well I don't see YOU training with scrap metal lately. Just MY stuff that _I_ invented specifically for YOU."

"Well... that's..."

"A loss for words, Monkey? Hmm? What abou-"She was shoved into the wall, her face pressed like paper against a roach. Her arms were held behind her back and he breathed in her ear, hot breath licking at her skin like a harmless fire.

"Why do you test me?" He whispered. She groaned, trying to move away, struggling against his grip. He went down harder, pressing his body against her. His lips were right over her ear, breath sexually stimulating the hairs. The tongue so close... ugh, Bulma wondered why she was even thinking of it, why she was even getting turned on. All she could feel was pain at being smushed into the wall and yet all she wanted right now instead of being let go was for him to fuck her. Fuck her... make love... just that simple rocking motion the two hips made as they slammed into each other. "Why do you test me woman?" He sighed, perhaps on purpose since he probably knew what this did to her. What HE did to her.

"You know how it feels to be called a bitch, don't you?" she sucked in her breath, trying to get air. It hurt so much everywhere... oh... now being let go was on the same level as fucking. She needed it just as much. "A dog," he said. "Maybe it's nothing to you, but you never, and I mean _NEVER_ fucking call me that again or I will rip you apart." She and he knew that could be done easily. It could be done here and no one would really be the wiser. He could say it was an accident; she wouldn't have any say since she'd be dead as a doorknob by then.

"What, a bitch?" The words rasped out from pursed lips that still struggled to breathe. The grip loosened and he chuckled into her ear, lips brushing the lobe.

"Don't test me anymore. Is that understood?"

He turned away and walked through the door way. Bulma wiped her mouth, lips in a snarl. She walked out of the room, looking after his cool muscled body in the hallway.

"I was wrong. You're not a monkey. You're just a fucking PIG. Yamcha treated me better than you could ev-wah oh!" It was amazing, she later reflected, how fast he could be. She often forgot that, smart as she may be. Her pride and anger got in the way before common sense could win the race and before she knew it, she was against the wall again.

Well, here we are again, a part of her thought dryly. Though, this time her head was facing Vegeta's. Bulma didn't think of this as a plus. In fact, she'd rather if it were like three seconds ago with her face smashed into the wall. Anger literally pulsed on the VEINS of his EYES. And lucky her, she got to stare at them.

"I am incomparable," he said simply.

Bulma began to notice just _how_ close their bodies were. Friction and electricity could be easily made if one rubbed against the other. Ooh, and how that sounded so fucking tempting right now. Inside aside from the horniness, she felt pathetic. Useless. A sad excuse for a so-called empowered woman of her generation. Rather than standing up for herself, she would rather be made into a submissive slut drooling for a fuck.

But it's been so long, she groaned in her mind. So long since his hands were over her breasts, tweaking her nipples, grinding her ass roughly. Lips and legs, moans and groans; it was their own private party in the bedroom (or anywhere else.) Mating season was every hour as far as both were concerned.

And now she was left months without contact. Without a smooth touch, a seductive whisper to her neck, teasing her about what she was going to receive. A hand going over her stomach for different reasons than feeling a baby that caused it all to go away. A baby... she had to raise all her own and that he wanted no part of.

She narrowed her eyes and smirked. "Incomparable to what, pencil dick?"

He looked surprised for a second that she would fight back before turning her around and slamming her into the wall. Déjà vu, she thought, dry humor surfacing up again.

"I warned you," he hissed into her ear before putting a hand roughly on her breast, squeezing it hard. She cried out, not standing the pain. If their sex was rough before, she was given an idea that Vegeta was probably gentle all those other times.

Another hand went to her stomach, pushing it back close so her behind was touching his groin. He chuckled as he felt her shudder, leaning his hips in, moving up a bit, rubbing specific parts together. "Does _this_ feel like a pencil dick?"

She hated him. She truly hated him right now. Of course, her body loved him as much as it could ever love a sexual being like Vegeta. But her mind... her heart... they felt betrayed and cruelly beaten. She had hope for a better day, a better Vegeta, a better tomorrow in store. Of course, every morning it wouldn't be like that. It would be filled with doubts. Filled with worries; what will she do, was everything alright, _would_ everything be alright?

And for her body to be used as a weapon to undermine who she was was typically Vegeta. Only he would have the mind of an intellectual rapist to not only violate a woman's body but to make it feel like she wanted it in the first place, that she needed it, and lastly, deserved it.

She wanted to give a smart comeback, say cocky things, be herself. The self she was _before_ she met Vegeta. Before when she would never have taken crap from a man, especially a man like this. Before when she wasn't willing to change herself for anyone.

But when she opened her mouth, she only proved his control over her by letting out a low moan instead of a snappy reply.

His hand on her stomach drifted down to her skirt and she felt regret in the back of her mind throb at the decision to wear one. Anticipation was the side feeling, it dripping down her thighs from her vagina, juicy and squishy (almost to an embarrassing level.) Oh, how she hated him. If she could kill him, if she had the strength, if he was a normal man and she had a knife... blood would be all over the walls. She would paint his name with his heart on his precious training room and shove it down his throat only to cut it out and shove it up his filthy ass. Hatred and love are so deeply intertwined; its scary how we can hate those we love. How we can love someone but not like who they are. How much inner feelings conflict with those we share with our loved ones.

Fingers stroked rather roughly against her panties as if trying to coax her clitoris to come out and play. They easily got past her clamped thighs, knowing that her soft muscles were no match against his obvious superior strength. Face it; he had more muscle in all those fingers than she probably had in her whole body twice over.

"You like it," he whispered, and she could almost _feel_ his confident smile. "Admit it, Bulma. You like it. Yamcha never gave you this," he crushed her breast again. "You love it, don't you, you dirty little girl," he said those words in a low voice, tongue outlining her lobe. "Yamcha never gave you this."

"No," she dry sobbed, shaking her head, closing her eyes from the pleasure. "He didn't," she panted, in excitement and anger, turning her head to glare at Vegeta. He looked pleased he caused a reaction, shoving his fingers up her vagina, going up and down quickly. His hips bumped into her ass, and his other hand ripped off her bra, molesting both boobs.

He leaned in, resting his chin on her shoulder, calmly multi tasking as if standing in line to ride a bus or eating breakfast. Not rushed or bothered at all.

His tongue went up her neck and she shivered, biting down her lip refusing to moan. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. As good as it would feel to give in, she couldn't. She had to fight in some way. Though her flesh was weak, her mind was DEFINITELY strong enough to stand up to any man. She would show Vegeta that he was no exception to the rule just because he thought he was good in the sack.

Fingers rolled around more slowly in her vagina, sliding out and brushing against her folds and started to tickle her clit, rubbing it in a circular motion. He rubbed his cheek against her shoulder letting out a rhythmic purr, sucking comfortably on a scar on her neck as if it were a nipple. He continued to rock his hips against her lower back and he loosened up on her breasts, rubbing her stomach in smooth motions, going up every now and then to slap and tease her breasts.

And as much as it felt sooo good, the pleasure thankfully made an excuse for her sneaky smile. As his fingers went in, she quietly let out rhythmic moans. And then came the climax of the performance, just before the orgasm: "Oh Yamcha!"

This was a horrible mistake.

One that Vegeta made sure she'd pay for.

After the shock of this...this... monstrosity of a comeback, Vegeta forced her to spread further, letting out a rather inhuman roar. "I'll show you, you fucking whore," and crushed his penis into her folds, letting harsh unbalanced strokes control their fuckmaking. Even after orgasm, even with the droplets of blood decorating the floor, he wouldn't let up and she wouldn't let go of the wall or the sweet revenge of what she now recognized as jealousy in his voice. Oh but it hurt.

"I bet you were fucking him all this while," he said, sounding insane as he hissed into her ear. "Fucking him and calling out MY name, you slut, and now you have us confused." He pumped into her so hard that there now was a deep dent in the wall. "Who is superior?" Another push of the hips. "Scream it." Another thick stroke. "Scream it so they can hear." He grabbed her hair and pulled it so the back of her head was on his shoulder and she let out short gasps. "Scream it so that _he_ can hear."

Finally he slowed down so that the motions were more wavelike in quality then the dominatrix's whip from before. The blood stopped running and she started to subside from the screams to the moderate moans. "Say it," he started to whisper, as if he were a gentle lover. His raspy voice made her shudder as she suffered an orgasm.

"Vegeta..."

"Louder."

"Vegeta," tears ran down her face as she submitted.

"I don't think the boy heard you downstairs."

It was humiliation. It was degradation in one of the worst degrees.

"Vegeta!!" her voice was so hoarse and she shook like a leaf as he took himself out of her. He merely wagged it at her as if to say I won, and don't mess with the big boys.

She sneered and he smirked, content in his victory as usual. The woman had not totally submitted yet and he voiced this concern and saw the virginic hatred in her eyes, and loved it, bathing in it. He hadn't seen hatred like that in YEARS.

He knelt down and put a hand to her face; she flinched. "There's a saying on this planet I learned recently..." he leaned in and licked her cheek, whispering in that lover voice, "All's fair in love and war..."

And then he left her sitting in the hallway, crying her eyes out. Her doomed quest to beat him was another point to Vegeta, with no victory on the home court.

-----

The baby was crying and she had to take care of it. She grasped the wall, frailer than before now that her encounter with Vegeta probably shaved off about five years from her life expectancy. "I'm coming, baby, I'm coming," she said quietly, like she was talking to herself. Well, she thought crazily, I might as well... I got what I wanted, she rethought the punishment Vegeta bestowed upon her. It was bittersweet like the blood on the carpet.

"Note to self," she said dryly, "clean that mess up." She sighed as she entered the Nursery, prepared to take on the screaming child with no avail and to lie down. She was prepared to be depressed tonight, to hold and cuddle the pillow, and to cry and contemplate suicide. She was prepared for dreams and no dreams, and dreams that will never come true. What she wasn't prepared for was Mirai Trunks holding his younger version in the rocking chair, already taking care of the problem.

She stared for a little while at this hopeful hallucination, walking as if in water to the crib expecting the baby to be there and that she really was going crazy. Maybe Vegeta did some sort of weird psychic thing with her head. Yeah...that was it.

But the baby wasn't there and Trunks was looking at her with a look of Vegeta-must've-fucked-you-up-bad. And to this, Bulma had the response of Boy-did-he.

"Trunks?" She wasn't aware of how her voice sounded tired. Only a day passed and she felt like she was a 100. So much for youth and beauty. Ah, just another day in Bulma Briefs' life.

"Yeah?" he smiled at her, rocking the kid. The smaller version of himself chose not to say anything and kept silent, possibly wondering if he should sleep or not. He caught sight of Bulma's engorged breasts and held out a hand but Mirai pushed it down, looking down at him. "ah-ah-ah, your mom's had a pretty rough night." Besides, he said in his eyes to the young thing, I want to play with them tonight first.

Out of fear and knowledge or perhaps just a short attention span, the child dared not look below Bulma's neck (at least not in front of Mirai.)

The lady smiled, sitting down on the floor and putting her head against the crib, declining the seat Mirai offered. "No, I just don't want to move for now. Let me sit here on the floor..it feels good."

"I see."

She looked away and to the carpet, feeling her whole body throb. Tears came again and rolled down freely even as she tried to dam them up. She felt soft callused thumbs over her cheeks as they wiped the unwanted trails away, resting his hands there. She looked up at Trunks and put her hand over his. "Oh, Trunks, I-"it was a tone of gratitude, of shame, of unfinished thankfulness.

"Had a fight?" The boy was pure sympathy to her, as he was throughout his whole stay. She nodded.

"Could you hear?"

"I think Satan could hear."

She laughed, bursting into more tears. Between laughs, she sputtered an "I'm sorry." She supposed she should feel ashamed and granted, she did, but for the most part, she felt better than she did a few minutes earlier. "Me," she paused, catching her breath. "Me and Vegeta, we're just," she searched for the right words and picked the clichéd common phrase, "going through some problems."

"No, no, don't be sorry." He smiles, reassuring that everything is fine and that he completely understands. But through this, Bulma feels embarrassed at the fact that her child was basically comforting her. She felt the younger Trunks grasp at her hair and discovered him to be back in his crib and felt the heartcrushing notion that she was a horrible mother. What eclipsed these fears was how she looked to Mirai... how she appeared to him. What sort of example was she setting? Oh god, what was he even thinking of her?

She wiped her face and blinked away anymore tears, knowing she looked like a rained out goth with the smeared make up and tired eyes.

Mirai put his hand on her shoulder and rubbed, still with his concerned eyes. "You know how you said you'd be there for me?" He looked upset suddenly. "you know..with my mom and..." he trailed off and before Bulma could comment, "anyways, I... I just want you to know that I'm going to do the same for you. Whatever you're thinking about," he grabbed her hand, "please tell me."

It was a long time before she looked up from his hand on hers, a long time after her heart stopped beating so violently and she could control the heat in her skin, a long time before she could talk steadily. "Thank you."

The grip tightened slightly. "You look like you need a break... say... what are you doing tonight?"

-----

His hand wavered over the wine glass, the powder suspended for five seconds as he thought.

Should he do this? He looked over to the sighing Bulma, putting her forehead into her hands, lazing about by the fire. He looked at the lascivious curves that showed like sin in that dress. And then he looked at her upset frown, the one she made whenever she was met with a problem and couldn't figure it out just yet. Adorable.

And then he looked at the bigger picture: what caused that, who owned that, who had that. Vegeta, Vegeta, Vegeta. And who let it all happen: Bulma.

But Trunks couldn't be angry at her for letting it happen. No, no, Vegeta obviously tricked her. Obviously he seduced Trunks' innocent love's mind, swaying her into Hell's cold embrace. Trunks grimly swished the wine glass in his hand, watching the crimson pools echo and reflect his disturbed soul. Only he could bring her back. Of course... she would be resistant at first. But that's because she was under a spell.

A spell he had to break or else, she would be lost forever. Forever giving blowjobs to a man who discarded her like trash afterwards; forever...to cry in bed alone while Trunks listened. He winced and blinked back the sudden tears when he thought of that fate. No, no, no!! He would NOT let that happen to her, and let the powder fall away from his palm to the passion in the glass.

After all ... Forever _was_ a long time.

---

She drank for a long time. Not that he minded. He watched the liquid drain into her pink lips and licked his own, staring at the graceful neck the drops lingered down. She sighed and looked at him with dazed eyes. "God, that tastes so good..." I bet it would, he thought. He himself barely sipped his own glass and shook the glass for sophisticated appearances.

He brought it to his mouth and took a small amount of the red wine. Good year, he noticed vaguely. Fills you nicely, he thought but his gaze was on her body - her breasts more like it – and not the wine. Heavy breaths benefited the view. He would've loved to critique Bulma though for a tasting session.

"Trunks," she laughed. "This is the most wonderful night in my life," she mildly slurred, laughing more. Trunks gave a small smile. Bulma's head shook a little and she sighed, laughing more as she flopped her head into a pillow. "I wish Vegeta was as nice as you.. hell," she laughed, "I wish every guy was as nice as you! Then maybe I wouldn't be in love with...with... whashisface!" and she laughed some more.

Trunks nodded, sipping more wine. That gave him a confidence boost.

"It's just.." she sat up and crawled on the couch until she was at the end and propped her elbows on it, trying to look at Trunks straight. "I'm just so...confused." She squinted her eyes. "Ya know?"

"I know." He patiently said, enjoying her like this. Bulma smiled brightly, glad to have found someone who finally understood her.

"I mean, a young girl like me as pleeeenty of choices, right? And I have to fall in love with.. uh... can't believe I forgot his name... damn. Oh well!" Trunks gave a loud laugh at that; one minute, Vegeta's name mattered, the next didn't. Breaking the spell wouldn't be so hard after all. "It doesn't matter!" she gushed, giggling, enjoying the sudden warmness in the room. A comedian she was!

"You were saying?" Trunks smoothly said as he leaned in close. Their faces were inches apart and both smiling widely.

"I was..?.. oh yeah! I was... like I said, I'm young right?"

"Right."

"And I'm beautiful, right?"

"No question."

"And I've got a lot to offer besides big boobs and money, yeah?"

"Of course you do."

"And there are a million men out there that would appreciate me for me, right?"

"I'm one of them!" he laughed. Bulma giggled and grabbed his glass, bringing it up for a swig.

"You're so cute! Anyways, if I've got ALLL that...and I'm stuck with Mr. Whatever, who doesn't even LIKE me... what do I do?"

"You find someone who _can_ love you, my dear..." and he put his hand on hers and rubbed it gently. She giggled, looking at him shyly as if he was making a joke and after a couple of seconds realized he wasn't laughing. She removed her hands and cleared her throat, putting one on her lap. A few seconds went by.

Predator watched the prey.

Prey wanted to escape for some unknown reason.

The drink was making them tired and horny; inside both were licking their lips, yearning for a touch. But was it so forbidden, Trunks' eyes slitted and ran over her body again. Was it so forbidden to want her on him, straddled, moaning, throwing her head back in the most exquisite pleasure she could ever feel in a lifetime?

After all, family _should_ remain close...

"Oh...I need a drink!" she chuckled, slapping her thigh. She attempted to break the silence "Party time!"

"Yeah!" Trunks yelled playfully, handing her his glass. "Live on, and live happy."

"And fuck those who get in the way!" she drank the whole glass within thirty seconds, pausing for a moment to blink afterwards. "And...and-" she moved her hands for Trunks to help her think.

"Forget the past!" She laughed and nodded.

"Yeah! Forget them all! From now on it's just gonna be all about me, you know? Forget that guy! I don't love him! I.." she stopped and laid her head down. And was quiet for a long time. Trunks looked at her, unsure.

What was swimming in her head? What was she drowning in those blue pools of hers? A love that had barely grown? Still green in its life and still weak to not stand on its own yet. It could've been a crush, you know... it could've all been a big mistake she made. The only curse or spell would've been her foolishness to believe someone like Vegeta cared. Or maybe it was just her wanting something she couldn't have?

Tears floated, ruining her eyesight. She could only see Impressionist paintings; everything was blurred and blobby, like Monet's _Water Lilies_. Erupt hot sobs came out of her like she was an underwater volcano. Her fists balled up and came up to her face, trying to hide it, trying to hide the obvious ugliness she was. She wasn't attractive, she wasn't smart. She wasn't anything if Vegeta couldn't see those so called good qualities. If Vegeta didn't want her... didn't love her... who did? Who would? Who could was a more important question.

She felt arms collect her and leaned into the strong chest, gasping and sobbing harder. "I love you," she said out loud, wanting Vegeta to hear it. "I love you, I love you," she repeated like an insane person, knowing she was barely comprehensible. Even she couldn't understand her empty words. Empty. That's all they were. Empty. She could yell and scream them all she wanted, but did she really love Vegeta? Did she absolutely adore being treated like a whore every time she wanted him? Every time she was willing to LET him treat her like she was? Just so she could at least be near him and hope that this time, hey, maybe it'd be different... and he'd finally turn in Prince Charming. And they'd make LOVE, not fuck.

And it'd be a bright fantasy... where the sun shined and everything was Perfect. Laying in bed until noon, just touching and whispering and loving... that's what she truly wanted, that's what she wanted. Kisses, delights, laughing, love. Oh but most importantly LOVE.

And perhaps that's why she felt guilty as Trunks began to put his hand up her thigh, the other rubbing her back. Gentle shhhing in her ear was like ocean waves crashing into white sand. She closed her eyes and leaned in, hoping, thinking, dreaming, but actually just pretending it was Vegeta. Just Vegeta for one night. One night of being loved.

Her head felt woozy and she hiccupped every now and then letting her self be gently rocked in his arms, rubbing her cheek against his chest and kissing it.

Love, love... what we do for love. What we all do for love. We'd die for it, we'd live for it... kill for it.. You've heard these typical sentences before, all cliché and heard of before. But would you betray for it? Would you pretend for it? For a brief feeling of being accepted, feeling adored, all for an obsession that wouldn't go away?

Bulma knew she would. And dipped her head back when Trunks' lips touched hers eagerly. Lips that met and greeted each other like children, innocent and pleading, asking for candy. When one tongue slipped in, the other slipped out and soon they lost memory of who touched first and where.

She picked up her legs and let him wrap them around her, also granting permission for him to lustfully bump his groin into hers. Their lips never parted, not for oxygen or the end of the world that would undoubtedly come if anyone knew of this. If anyone suspected of this sin that was already condemning both to Hell.

What am I doing? Was supposed to be what was running through their heads, at least Bulma's. But thoughts also escaped them in this passionate tryst. For let it be just one night. One night of love, harmony. One night of chaos and rhapsody. One night where music was being made by the sound of two naked bodies slapping against each other, the notes of flesh decorated with a symphony of moans. Let it be for one night...they both experience pleasure and pain. Pleasure at being loved, finally, after all this time... pain that it would be the first and last time.

His lips touched hers and he let out something, somewords. "I love you." Dangerous, fleeting, he wondered if she'd notice. And she did, moving back and looking at him with drunk eyes.

"Then show me."

---

Vegeta. It was on her mind. Vegeta. Through blue eyes, she saw Vegeta. And only him. As she kissed and squeezed, moaned and groaned, it was the obsession that burned through her veins and mind. Vegeta. His face. His smirk. His arms crossed, looking down at you.

His eyes.

She opened her mouth and let Trunks in. No, it isn't Trunks. It's Vegeta. Once she closed her eyes, it felt like him... it smelled like him... and if it walks and talks like a duck, then it is a duck. And he was Vegeta.

"Let's dance," she smiled silkily, licking his cheek. Vegeta smiled and picked her up, gently pushing her body against his. Muscle against fat, it was an erotic move. "There's no music," Bulma said, as if suddenly noticing.

"Of course there is," Vegeta said in his husky voice into her ear. He let out a soothing shhhh, as he rocked their bodies like an ocean sway. "You hear that?" he rasped.

She closed her eyes and put her head on his shoulder. There was nothing at first. Only crackling of fire and their clothes rustling with the occasional heavy breathing. And then she heard it. In the distance there was a party of some sort... high class, trendy, chic.. who cared.. but the music was there and their hips perfectly matched the distant rhythm. She could feel him smiling into her hair and nuzzled her cheek into his chest, proud that his erection that was poking her in the stomach was her doing and only hers.

I own his heart now, she smirked. I own that cape of hearts with my very own crown.

"I've always loved you," Vegeta admitted. Oh! Bulma was in heaven. She laughed lightly, nodding with her eyes closed.

"Keep talking.."

He let out a short laugh, hands going down her back to feel her ass. He sucked on her earlobe, letting out a smack and whispered, "Always."

"You're doing great here.." She almost opened her eyes but something told her not to. No, a little voice in her hissed. Let the dream last longer. Let it.

"I want you." Words. Simple and inviting. And true. She believed them almost immediately and was happy her eyes were closed. Tears would've streamed down otherwise.

"Really?" she slurred, still drunk.

"Is there a doubt?" He kissed her cheek, still moving his hips to her.

They continued to dance to the almost undetectable music. The party had ended but the tune was still there, in a little girl's room. She danced with her mother's dress on, dreaming of the day she would join parties like that. The innocence would stay fresh for a couple of years before her eyes would be opened and she would yearn for yesteryears. Like they say, the grass is greener on the other side.

Vegeta dipped her, and Bulma could feel his admiration of her body, and she suddenly felt proud and mighty to have power. To be a woman. She felt it in every sense of the word, in every bone and nerve of her body just how woman she was. Seduction and sexuality dripped like honey from her soul and it felt good. It felt damn good.

His hands moved to her front after he pulled her up and he touched her down there, hand moving under the dress, prying the restrictive underwear from where both wanted him to go. Somehow, between that and her clothes getting lost (the details were so fuzzy and Vegeta was so anxious!) Bulma wondered how they ended in the bedroom.

"You're fast," she laughed, kicking her legs up enjoying being carried.

"Mmm," he leaned down and kissed her, smiling. Her eyes remained on his lips, her mind not daring to go further up. It was strange to see Vegeta smile, she noticed, grinning away like crazy. But it was a good strange. It was like a happy ending kind of Twilight Zone. He kicked open her door lightly, jogging in, openly showing how much he enjoyed holding her.

She held on stronger, her nude body rubbing against his in the process and he immediately put her on the bed, trying to unfasten his pants.

And of course, whenever the times call for it, like this sexual affair, his zipper got stuck and his belt wouldn't loosen fast enough. Bulma looked down, not bothering with his face, awaiting for something great to happen once his pants were open.

Vegeta on the other hand was muttering dirty curses to the makers of the pants. When they were finally off, the heat visibly went up and he nearly tore off his shirt getting in off. He parted Bulma's legs, looking down at her. Bulma's eyes were still on his crotch, smiling. At the moment, she didn't need a face. She felt him put his head into the crook of her neck and his hair brush her cheek, and eagerly wrapped her arms around him. 'Vegeta,' she moaned in her head. "Yesss..." and then he pumped in.

Sex is nice... that's what everyone keeps hearing. It's magical, beautiful...rough, dirty... fantastic and without words. Often we try to describe it. We try to explain the feelings but end up just making sounds instead of adjectives. But you just can't help it.. you just can't help being speechless when you feel something in you (literally) and it fits so right. Better than before. Like the first time you've been touched down there. The first time you've ever been went down on and the tongue expertly circles around the clit, actually writing a love letter to you with muscle, with prose and sonnets, knowing you're hearing every word one way or another.

It's like that. Sex is like the first time. Exciting. New. Unimaginable. Scary. Wonderous. First steps like you're a baby again. First day of kindergarten. First time you look to your left and the boy you've hated turns into your crush. Your first everything in a whirl of emotions that you can't handle. Sex was like that. Sex is muscle, sex is fat, sex is everything at the moment. Take it or leave it, now or never, the sex was like that between Vegeta and Bulma.

But at the same time...it wasn't. It wasn't those things. It was deep and spiritual. It was something each other knew. It had a wisdom to it like sex often does.

And even then... it was dirty... wild. You wouldn't think anything beautiful like wisdom was associated with the sort of animal acts that happened then. Tearing, grabbing, smacking, pumping...

And then it'd change all over again into a whole nother meaning.

Sex is like that. Sex has no emotional definition except this: I came. I saw. I conquered.

And this was how it was for both parties. Both thought they conquered each other, both thought the other was weak to their charms, and both were madly in fuck right now.

And that's when it changed. That's when the fatal mistake occurred that set this whole story into motion. That brings it into denial, frustration, and anger. That takes it to the cloak of obsession and dark love. Where the narrative no longer becomes idle and cheery, and takes a turn for a worst.

"Vegeta!" she screamed, moaning languidly. Vegeta's body froze, his body suddenly tense. She wondered if this was a teasing act.

"Vegeta," she whined, touching his nipple and he flinched, grabbing her hand and putting it to the bed.

"I'm not Vegeta." He said stonily, tone changing from the loving, laughing Vegeta that she was only beginning to see.

"..What..?" she tried to laugh convinced he was fooling to her. Her body still ached with the clutches of an orgasm, still so close yet still so far away. She brought it up, thinking he might knock it off and get back to work but his hand was still enclosed around her wrist. Through the aches, she felt the searing pain at the Saiya-jin grip. He wasn't being gentle with her anymore...but why? "Come on, Vegeta," she shot. "Stop playing around." A hand went around her throat and she gasped breaths and words gurgling immediately.

"I'm not...Vegeta.." Vegeta gritted out, grinding his teeth, positioning himself in front of her.

"Ve-" she didn't understand. What was he doing. He let go of her throat and held her other wrist down, leaning in. "Do I look like Vegeta?" he spat and started to roughly insert himself into her, making sure she was feeling pain and he was only feeling pleasure the Saiya-jin way. The natural way. The vengeful way. "Does **this** _feel_ like Vegeta?"

And that's when she saw Trunks between her legs instead of Vegeta and screamed as he rocked his hips harder and harder into hers, his mouth covering hers to mute the screams. All the while through the night as he went in and out of her, turning her around and using her like a whore, that's what he kept saying. "I'm not Vegeta, I'm not Vegeta," he said to himself over and over as he let himself come in her, only to turn her over a different way to use her in the same fashion.

"I'm not Vegeta," he thundered as his nails went in deep into her sides and breasts and he bit her on her neck, gnawing at the loose skin. The sheets became soaked with blood and tears but both parties didn't care... for different reasons.

Through this, in the shadows only one saw.

And only one turned away from the sight, walking and disappearing into the night.

"I'm not Vegeta," he sobbed as he let go, panting at her side as both fell to sleep. "I'm not him...I'm not him.."


	8. Manipulation is the Key: Part Five Dolls...

Part V: Dolls and Dresses

Why did it hurt so much?

She woke up, feeling cold and drained in both ends. She curled up, looking like a marble sculpture in the bed around her. So blue and pale, she felt like she had nothing in her. No energy..no life...

But why? She couldn't remember..

She looked at her fingernails and felt the pounding headache in her forehead. "Ohh.." she moaned and felt something stir by her. She lifted her head tiredly and saw Trunks sleeping, nude with only the red sheets covering him.

..Red.. She looked at the fabric, squinting her eyes. Her mind was slowly working past the hangover but not fast enough for her taste. Weren't they white yesterday?

Yesterday..last night...sheets... bed... Trunks... blood... tears...Vegeta...

Time was distilled water. Unmoved for such a long time, a small ripple began in its center and echoed until it reached Bulma's brain. She looked down at him, inching away.

'I'm not Vegeta...'

Her eyes were wide and her breath quickened as she dragged herself off the bed, finding no use in her legs. They hurt so much... the bruises were not skin deep. What happened, what happened, what happened?! Her mind was on alert as the rug burned her once delicate skin.

The dinner. The wine. His smile. Vegeta.

"I'm not Vegeta!" he boomed and she gasped, biting her swollen lip to keep the tears at bay. She was still, not taking the chance to move and she looked behind her quickly to see he was asleep.

"I'm not Vegeta," he slurred again in his sleep. He moved, clutching a pillow and holding it suffocatingly close to him.

She couldn't help it. The tears burst out of her, like stallions galloping to be free. She clutched her hair, surprised at the matted clumps and wondered how long was she in that bed with him. Hours, days... she wouldn't be surprised if it was months and years.

And I thought he was Vegeta, she thought to herself, as she looked over herself still in a dull panic.

Trunks moaned his protests at this name and she bit her lip skimming around it in her mind, frightened at what even the slightest thought could incur. Fear and blood go so well together, though, a frantic part of her went. Like dolls and dresses.

She shivered, hugging herself before continuing the trek to the bathroom door. It was the Promise Land; it was the sanctuary she could cry from and cry in, from the persecution of the crowds. It was haven like shelters were to battered wives and lost soulless children; it was everything a victim, a true victim in the innocent, could hope to find solace before dying ever slowly in that safety.

Everything below her waist was numb. Her neck throbbed and her throat burned and scratched. Don't get her started on her vagina. But what was most numb was her sense. She couldn't ask why or even comprehend why he did... nor could she even bring herself to that train of thought. All that was there was an animal trying to survive from death, instincts coming into place and flight going before the unlikely fight.

And so with each painful grab of the carpet, her burned and bruised body reach the door, and she forced herself to grab onto the sides crying softly at the sharp pain in her knees as she opened the door.

And when she did, he woke up.

"What are you doing?"


End file.
